Five days in summer
by RiskaSG
Summary: A story about family & falling in love: even for Richard and Emily, the best of all couples, it wasn't love at first sight. Five days in summer changed their feelings however. Now it's all up to them to make it work. Reconcilers. Last chapter is up. Enjoy
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

Boudewijn Janssen was nineteen, when he left the Netherlands in the early 1620s for the New World. Actually it wasn't him who left, but the ver Planck's and as he happened to be their gofer, he happened to end up in a small Dutch colony at the Delaware River. What use they could have for a gofer in this solitude that didn't have shops, not even proper streets, was beyond him, still they always had paid and treated him good and as Boudewijn wasn't the kind of boy who liked changes, he decided to go with them. Better working for people he knew in a foreign country than working for people he didn't knew in his own country, he told himself. Besides, he liked the scullery-maid of the ver Planck's. Actually he liked her very much and spent a huge amount of time daydreaming more or less x-rated scenarios, although (and because) the scullery-maid couldn't have shown less interest in him. Still Boudewijn hoped to win her over in the land without shops and streets that - as he figured out – therefore would have a lack of men and possible competitors as well.

Boudewijn was unlucky however as Katrine (the scullery-maid who stared in Boudewijn's more or less x-rated daydreams) was one of the girls, who speculated for a social raise through marriage. She only went with the ver Planck's because she had figured out that such a marriage would be much easier to achieve in a land that didn't offer men a wide range of potential candidates for marriage than in a country with thousands of girls.

As she was personable and ambitious, Katrine actually succeeded in winning the attention and favour of the middle Verplanck, the scion of another expatriated Dutch merchant family. But while she already saw herself as the future Mrs. Verplanck, the middle Verplanck only saw her as cheap compensation for his desperately missed Amsterdam prostitutes. Stupidly poor Katrine didn't have the birth control knowledge of those Dutch cocottes and after six years of longing Boudewijn finally was not only the man of the hour, but the man a pregnant and sullen Katrine saw herself forced to say "Yes" to.

Despite the fact, she was married to a gofer without any other ambitions than sharing bed with her, Katrine had no intentions to let the dream of a better life and status go and she was smart enough to use Boudewijn and his blind love and lust alongside the money she had procured from the middle Verplanck after the birth of his bastard son, to influence the faith of the family.

A constantly growing family (Katrine never learned the secrets of the Dutch cocottes the middle Verplanck would mourn until the day he died) with a constantly growing fortune (Katrine had decided that Boudewijn would take part of the profits of the exclusive trading rights of the _Dutch West India Company_ instead of being a gofer for the rest of his life) and when Katrine died in 1661 she did not only leave four children (actually she had given birth to nine, but none of the other five ever saw the age of two), seven grandchildren and five great-grand children (if she would've lived long enough, she would've witnessed the birth of six more), but also a devastated Boudewijn and the cornerstone of what would eventually turn into the empire of the _Johnson Trade Inc_. (The family changed the name from Janssen to Johnson with the final British takeover of the Dutch colonies). And although the members of the family soon enough looked down on everyone below their status and money; and gofers and scullery-maids were nothing more than a necessary evil in their eyes; they were proud to be one of the first families whose substantial fortune and reputation had its origin in hard and ambitious work_. The Johnson's_, a descendant of the Dutch gofer and his scullery-maid said on the occasion of a family wedding in the late 1880s, _virtually invented the famous American dream_.

But just as every family has its black sheep, actually every generation of the Johnson's had one or two of them through the 300 years of American family history. The first one was the Verplanck bastard (Willem Janssen, 1628-1672, who actually had no other faults than being the son of the wrong man), then there was a gambler with a drinking problem (Boudewijn Johnson III, 1689-1757), a alcoholic with a gambling problem (Arthur Johnson, 1713-1762), a alcoholic and gambler (Michael Johnson, 1753-1817); and there was Gilbert Johnson (1755-1832), who neither was a gambler nor a alcoholic, but still happened to be the first one to be repudiate by the family, because he unfortunately had fallen in love and married a dark-eyed Native American beauty in 1774 . The family however welcomed Gilbert back in their (so called) loving arms 27 years later as the Johnson's suffered a family shortage around 1800 (the male/female percentage was 1:7) and Gilbert happened to be the only male Johnson alive without a drinking and/or gambling problem and a male descendant (Carl Johnson, 1776-1859) without a drinking and/or gambling problem and someone simply had to continue family business, even if it were a man who was married to a savage and a man who was a half-savage by blood.

For the following one hundred years there were surprisingly no more black sheep (may it be gamblers, alcoholics or men with a soft spot for dark-eyed savages), only most of the female Johnson's were duffers and as their excesses fortunately had no real input on the healthy male family-line and all had been married away to mercenary bachelors in Europe or Australia, they didn't count or even exist anymore in the minds of the inner family circle. Those one hundred (more or less scandal-free) years can be seen as the calm before the storm; a storm that broke out around the turn of the 20th century with the birth and adolescence of Baldwin Johnson V (1899-1973) and his younger brother Carl Johnson II (1902-1991).

Actually none of both drank or gambled or had a soft spot for dark-eyed savages during their whole lives (which had been the known problems of the male Johnson's so far); however both were predestined to be black sheep thanks to some other innateness.

Baldwin's problem was that he simply had no business sense or interest in politics, economy and trading. He couldn't help this lack, he simply was born with it, and still it turned him into the known maverick of the family (although his younger brother Carl had just the same potential to be the known black sheep of the generation), who probably would've ended in the streets, if Carl (who became the manager of the _Johnson Trade Inc_. due to Baldwin's lacks) wouldn't have been fair-minded enough to support him with the same interest of the family business he received monthly, although Baldwin never lifted a finger.

Of course Carl wasn't unselfish; he simply had to cope with his own problems: He had no interest in ever getting married as he did not have any interest in the female gender at all. Moreover, growing up between some particularly strange specimens, like hell he would let a woman into his house voluntarily, not even for the purpose of keeping up the appearance. But Carl loved the business and he wanted the business to stay in the closest family line. Therefore, he supported Baldwin financially and in return Baldwin was supposed to give Carl an heir for the family business.

To be honest, Baldwin hadn't much interest in the other gender as well, but unlike Carl it wasn't due to the sexual and romantic preference of men, but due to his over-all and almost abnormal love for art: Baldwin could've died happily between his canvas' without getting married at all. Still Carl pegged away and eventually managed it to set up his already thirty-nine year old brother with the twenty-one years younger Lillian Goldsmith in 1939.

Despite his successful matchmaking and planning Carl failed. Not only did he have to wait years until the first child of Baldwin and Lillian finally was born (Emily Katherine Rose Johnson, 1944), moreover the child was a disappointment for Carl as it was a girl and therefore did not answer his purpose. Same applied for the second child of his brother and sister-in-law (Henriette Pauline Johnson, 1949), who turned out to be another female Johnson (The male/female percentage in the Johnson family was 1:8 by then).

"Listen to me, Baldwin, I'm not going to talk to you until you manage it to procreate a boy. And not another cent - ", Carl yelled at his older brother not five minutes after the birth of Henriette, "- you won't get a single cent anymore until I finally get my nephew", he added, stormed out and never came back as Henriette was the last child Baldwin procreated. Carl never stopped paying Baldwin his fair interest, however. The potential mothers of the looked-for family heir, Carl felt after he had calmed down in the arms of his long-time lover and secretary, shouldn't have to suffer under a bootless and useless father. Besides history had proofed that no reputable man ever had been crazy enough to marry a Johnson woman who had not at least a decent education and an enormous marriage portion. And hell, if he wanted a suitable heir, he had to make sure that those girls would marry reputable men.

To be continued

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Author's note: Yes. It's in English :P Thanks to Melanie therefore, my first Beta in donkey's years. 


	2. The Artist Before His Canvas

**The Artist Before His Canvas, Girl Before A Mirror**

Baldwin Johnson was a man with a compact body, who – despite his name and fortune – always looked a little scruffy. And no matter how many essential oils and aftershaves his wife put into his bathroom, he always gave off the smell of oil paint and turpentine. Just like a rose smells like a rose, he smelled like a colour palette and even looked like one most of the time thanks to the dashes that graced him from bottom to top. Yes, Baldwin Johnson considered himself as an artist. A brilliant mind, mulcted of fame by the infamous Picasso, who – as Baldwin Johnson never got tired to point out – stole the idea of cubism of nobody less than Baldwin Johnson himself. But despite decades of unsuccessfulness, he never gave up the hope to have his breakthrough eventually and to put the Spanish thief in his place and heat-up the open fire in his atelier with the overrated works of his intimate enemy.

Of course this war was a one-sided; Picasso probably didn't care about the existence of an American painter named Baldwin Johnson who claimed cubism to be his invention. Still Baldwin couldn't have fought with more passion, if Picasso would've stooped to reply one of his letters or even taken the invitation to a duel (an artistic one, of course, Baldwin loathed physical violence as he considered it to be controversial to his artist mind). Actually all passion that ran through his veins belonged to his art and only when this bothersome physical lust spread in his body every now and then, he remembered the existence of his wife, who'd lie willing under him during these rare occasions as it is what wives are supposed to do, while his mind already started to paint a new work as he got rid of the fruitless burning in his loins.

Fruitless in an artistic sense only, because during his marriage and at his brothers urging, Baldwin managed it to procreate twice. Although he did not consider his children to be his best works, sometimes he couldn't help to look at them with an almost infantile amazement. The oldest one was a scrawny girl with the thick brown hair and the dark eyes of her Indian foremother, Baldwin's rangy fingers and his strong chin that somehow appealed misplaced in the otherwise delicately face. The younger one only had inherited his sparse blonde hair which looked ridiculously bald around her rosy-cheeked, round face that was decorated with her mothers' green cat eyes and almond-shaped mouth. Whenever Baldwin made out these characteristics of his two daughters, he couldn't help to giggle inside. What a hell of an artist he was that even his children, although he did not consider them to be his best works, partook of abstractivity.

If he ever would've spoken out this thought aloud, his wife probably would've lost the patience she had with him and his strange behaviour (as Baldwin and Lillian hardly ever spoke more than five sentences to each other in a day, there actually never was the slightest danger for him to utter this thought in the presence of his wife). Although Lillian Johnson knew that her daughters never would have looks that make every man weak in the knees, she knew that her daughters would be good looking enough to turn some heads and hopefully the heads of two respectable bachelors with good breeding and reputation as well as a brimmed account, who would turn them into their wives. If they were lucky enough, they would be able to get someone like Baldwin, who despite and because of his art delusion at the same time, was a rather good husband (The fears she first had about marrying a man so much older, had vanished into thin air during their first month of marriage). Baldwin hardly ever thumbed his marital rights and never interfered into her matters, but trusted her in all social and financial concerns (Of course he did as he had no other choice, her poor husband hardly knew how to tie his shoes). Therefore Lillian had more freedoms than all the other married women in Albany together and as everyone wrongly thought life with a man like Baldwin must be hard, she had a markedly good reputation, although her husband was denounced as screwball. Yes, sometimes she would've willingly given up some of those freedoms if her husband would've stopped his smearing and took a job in the family business. Nevertheless, Lillian Johnson was a very lucky and happy woman and she made every possible effort to put her daughters into the same position.

Therefore, Lillian Johnson arranged for her daughters an education that hopefully would turn them into two desirable catches. Since the day of their births Emily and Henriette were taught everything she knew about life, society and home economics, moral, marriage and manners by Lillian; moreover she paid expensive schools to have others teach them the things she didn't knew. The end result was acceptable. Well, almost acceptable.

Neither Lillian nor any of the teachers had managed to tame the temperament and stubbornness of her daughters, as well as their unspeakable penchant to pert (all Johnson attributes, the Goldsmith women were known for their sweet temper and patience), down to a level which would be appropriate for two mannerly Ladies. As both however managed to curb those attributes in public most of the time, Lillian had very high hopes that her future son-in-laws wouldn't find out until they were married and it was too late to retract.

The Johnson girls had no idea of their mothers concerns; they didn't know that their father considered them to be abstractive; they didn't know that they were supposed to give their uncle Carl Johnson an heir for the family business. Actually, Emily and Henriette knew nothing, but how to act and re-act in public, how to start a proper conversation around non-committal topics like the weather, fashion, literature, art (with the small exception of cubism, at least in the presence of Baldwin Johnson) and culture and how to talk about those topics in three different languages, their mother tongue and a basic knowledge of Latin not included. The older one played a rather good piano, the younger one a virtuoso violin; they knew how to dance, stitch and crochet, arrange flowers and their hair, they knew how to put on decent make-up and smiles. And because both were bright girls and no one ever asked them to do something else, they were not only perfect in it, but it never came to their minds that girls could be taught to be or even be more than wives, nor that they could be something else themselves. In their universe, the universe their mother and social status had created naturally, getting married was the sun everything revolved around.

Hence Emily Johnson felt it as a personal and hard defeat to turn18 without being married or having the ghost of a chance to be married in the near future. She did not know what went wrong and something must've went wrong as she was 18, unmarried and hadn't the ghost of a chance to be married in the near future and she spent hours mulling her situation over. Of course, her father was a known screwball, but it was known as well that neither she nor Henriette had inherited his art craziness but were well educated girls. Besides, the otherwise famous family name and the quiet presentable marriage portion that came with it, should be able to balance a crazy father. (At least Emily hoped so.)

After three hours in front of the gold-framed mirror in her room, having looked at every part of her face and body with an unerring eye, Emily came to the conclusion that her looks couldn't be the reason as well. Yes, her chin was too big and she would've given anything to look less like that savage relative of hers no one ever talked about, but to have the light, almost aristocratic European appearance of her sister and mother – the overall picture was satisfying, however. She had a rather nice body and beautiful hair (Maybe it wasn't blonde like Henriettes', at least she didn't have to sleep with curlers in her hair ever since she was five in order to conceal its actual form) that detracted of the slight defects her face had. Still, there must've been something; she must've had a lack she didn't know of, a stigma that kept men away.

Asking thirteen year old Henriette wasn't a big help, her younger sister only grinned and announced that she wouldn't have any problems in getting married and that every family had a spinster.

"I'm no spinster", Emily whizzed in return, blood surging to her face.

"Yes you are. I wouldn't be surprised, if I'd be married before you are. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised, if you'd never get married at all", Henriette capped it all of, enjoying her older sisters reaction.

"You will not be married before I am."

With a mischievous smile in the corner of her mouth, Henriette pursed her almond lips. "Time will prove me right."

"It won't."

"Yes, it will."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!", Emily replied another time, although she knew that Henriette and she weren't having a intelligent conversation and she was actually too old for such baubleries. She finally should learn to ignore her sisters' provocations.

"Yes. Yes. Yes", Henriette affirmed, prodding her finger at Emily's upper arm with every word, visibly enjoying the quarrel and her sisters' enragement.

"Stop it!"

"As you wish, spinster."

"Do not call me that, Henriette!"

"Alright, spinster, I'll keep the truth a secret until it can't be kept secret anymore. But don't worry; you're my sister and I like you. You may live with me and my husband."

"How very generous of you."

"That's how I am", Henriette grinned. "Generous. And your only hope for a roof over your head and some company in your future spinster life."

"My only hope", Emily snorted. "Go fly a kite,**_ hope_**, otherwise your hopes to marry ever will cease suddenly with your early death."

"Idle threats."

"Want to take the risk?"

"I salute and leave you alone with your mirror", Henriette gave in, partly because she felt she had won the argument anyways, partly because she really didn't want to take a risk. Still she couldn't deny herself to tweet a "Mirror, mirror upon the wall, who is the fairest of all? Oh Lady Queen, though fair ye be, Henriette is fairer far to see", while leaving Emily's room, hardly being able to avoid the brush her sister shied after her while eventually losing her poise. That was childish and inopportune. **_That_** was probably the reason, Emily thought, while picking up her brush. Which man would want to marry a girl, who'd throw brushes after him when losing her poise? Especially if the girl lost her poise three times a day.

As Emily Johnson never had thrown a brush or any other item in public and she only happened to throw something twice in her future life after this incident (her purse after her future husband, 1964, and the flacons and tins on her dressing table onto the floor, 1985), her assumption was wrong. It wasn't her temper, her looks or her father; it was the soap bubble she lived in and it was Lillian Johnson who caused and finally realized it.

First, Lillian had been worried about her oldest daughters' marriage status, too. After all, she had been engaged to Baldwin with 17 and married two weeks after her 18th birthday. An arranged wedding, she realized after some pondering and talks to her fellow DAR friends, something that might've been quiet usual 20 years ago, but gone out of style in the 1960s. Nowadays young men wanted to chose their wives themselves. And most of the time, they weren't introduced to them at tea-parties or the yearly city ball, but they meet them at college and university. Therefore, Lillian felt, her oldest daughter should continue her school education, although it actually had been considered to be complete with Emily's graduation from High School two months ago.

Although, Emily was sent to College in order to meet a man, Lillian Johnson did not want to go over the top and chose Smith, a college for girls only that was known to take care of its students in every respect. Still Lillian feared Emily could go astray being completely on her own and without motherly control for the first time in her young life. Her worst nightmare (an unmarried and pregnant daughter) didn't come true, because Emily simply was too well-bred and the rules of a modest contact with men had been thumbed into her from childhood. Her dream (an engagement and wedding around her daughters 19th birthday) didn't come true as well however, because Emily was too busy in collecting and handling the new impressions during her first year at college, her first year outside the soap bubble.

This new knowledge changed many of Emily's views and some of her attitudes, but had no impact on her self-conception and the way she wanted to live her life. If she had been younger and capable of being influenced on a deep level, this probably would've been different as her letters home were enough to change Henriette. The universe of the youngest Johnson got some new suns and the girl higher hopes than being married before her older sister. Henriette never got rid of the nickname, however, that Emily called her by ever since she had proclaimed to be Emily's only hope: A taunting Hope first, a fond Hopie after the dispute had been forgotten.

To be continue

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ATN: Thanks to Mel and the reviewers. I know there are no Gilmores in the prologue and no Gilmore in this chapter as well (although the patient reader, who read the prologue and chapter 1 from beginning to end, probably figured out that Johnson is Emily Gilmore's maiden name) - imo, it's important to explain the background of a character, however, and (almost) everything I wrote about Emily's family will be taken up sooner or later and/or explain happenings, actions and reactions. A story is like a jigsaw, you need all pieces or you'll have holes ;) 


	3. Grassy Plots On A Short Skirt

**Grassy Plots On A Short Skirt**

Emily Johnson knew that her major (history of art) and minor (architecture) was only a stalking horse for daughters of good families. Studying history of art was their plea to make contacts with men at different university overlapping events and in cafes, bars and dancing halls that had a reputation for it. As Emily studied it for the same reason, she didn't mind. Studying was a pastime until she would finally find a man and marry him. In contrast to her first weeks at Smith, she had learned to see the whole looking for a husband-endeavour easier, however. Moreover, she had taken a fancy to student's life and decided to get her bachelors degree before marrying.

Marrying. Emily had no more doubts that she would find an adequate husband, if she wouldn't be too picky. Moreover she truly enjoyed the search for one. Having dates with men who found her attractive, who gave her compliments and sent her flowers and chocolates were balsam for her soul. Actually, she had worked out a perfect system that comprised three dates a week. On Mondays she used to visit one of the cafes, bars and dancing halls in order to make new contacts. Whenever she liked a man, she would accept his invitation to a date on Thursday. Whenever a man proved to be short listed on Thursday, she agreed on a Friday night date. Whenever a Friday night date turned out to be really short listed, she'd accept a date on Saturday. And whenever a man turned out to be a duffer, she would recruit a new one on Monday evenings.

During one and a half years of meeting men and dating them, there had been only twelve who made it to a Saturday date. The first seven, because Emily Johnson still had been in a desperate search for any husband by then and the last four, because she liked them. Hence number four (Martin Dafoe, a Harvard student and heir of a Texan oil empire) had been the first man she ever kissed in her life. The kiss was short and wet and all she felt while it lasted was the urgent need to get rid of the second-party tongue in her mouth. She had the same want with number five and seven (a Yale student with a trading company in his back and Princeton man with the prospects of becoming a successful lawyer), while she was able to enjoy the kisses of number six and eight to a certain level. Number six, Zachary Dagett, a Yale man and future owner of a famous hotel chain, threw away with Emily yet despite being a good dancer, because he unfortunately turned out to have no sense for arts and humour or anything else she liked or enjoyed and bored her to death after Saturday date number four. Number eight, a guy named Robert Tadman, student of economics at Princeton, made it to seven Saturday dates and ever since date number five Emily had high hopes that she would end up as Mrs. Tadman eventually.

Despite her ingenious and tight dating schedule, Emily took life easy (as easy as it is possible for a person like her). She spent as much time as necessary with studying (which was less) and lots of time with her friends and sports. Ever since she had been a child, her mother had urged Emily to train her body. It had begun with ballet (for the perfect posture and graceful gait) and swim (the only dignified work out in Lillian Johnson's eyes) lessons, there were badminton and tennis lessons (back then still the sport of the rich and privileged population) and with 12 Emily joined the field hockey team of her school (as she had to do a team sport and both, mother and daughter, considered field hockey to be more dignified than soft- and volleyball), which soon became her favourite sport.

Emily simply loved everything about field hockey, especially the games. She loved the whistle that opened the sportier competition, the scraping and squeaking of the shoes and hockey sticks on the grass, the sound of a fast hockey ball hitting the goal and all the shouts and cheers that came with it. She loved the hum of blood in her ears and veins, the wild beating of her heart and even the sweating that came with the exercise as well as the satisfactory exhaustion afterwards. She loved the sensation of having won and loathed the knockdown of having lost. Especially today. First of all the opposing team hadn't been equal and gained an unfair victory with tricks and fouls, although the rules of field hockey forbid any physical contact or elbowing. Second Robert Tadman was sitting among the viewers. Suffering defeat in the presence of a man she was seriously dating since some weeks was hard enough, but she had fallen onto the ground after a fast and hard ball of C.C. Everetts had hit her side. A ball that had been batted with the purpose of hitting her. But although Emily was fret and fume after the game, she tried to play fair as the fighting belonged onto the field. It started with the tingler and ended with the final whistle. Everyone knew that, really.

Well, everyone except the hockey team of Wellesley College, whose members apparently had left their manners in Wellesley, if they had any manners at all. When Emily heard C.C. Everetts calling the Smith field hockey team "a pride of duds" on the parking lot, she lost the rest of her poise therefore and unhesitatingly took the opportunity to ram her elbow into the neck of the smaller girl while passing her, which caused C.C. to fall onto the ground.

"Have you lost your mind?", C.C. screamed, getting back onto her feet and rubbing her red neck.

"I'm so sorry, I must've overlooked you", Emily replied with the most sweet smile. "Did I hit you?"

"You know perfectly, you did."

"It was an accident."

"Snake in the grass, you did it on purpose."

"If you want to prevent people running into you, I suggest you to wear a high red hat to mark your tiny appearance, but do not imply things you can't prove."

"You're right, I can't prove it", C.C. replied, a smile forming on her otherwise combative face. "Just like you won't be able to prove that I batted the ball on purpose, which will hit your pretty face during our next game."

"Listen, darling", Emily replied, the sweetness in her voice was replaced with cold sharpness by now. "If you ever should happen to bat a ball into my direction or badmouth my team again, it just might happen that I accidentally run into you again. And then you won't get off as lightly as today."

"I'm afraid, there won't be any other hockey games you'll participate in, Miss Johnson", the voice of her trainer resounded.

"What!?!", Emily spun around, being sure, she got hold of the wrong end of the stick.

"You understood me perfectly. You're barred from the team."

"You can't bar me! I'm one of the best players!" Emily exclaimed in shock. "Besides, she started it, I was just - "

"I don't care who started it or why", the trainer interrupted her. "All I saw was one of my players elbowing and threatening one of our guests and I can't and won't tolerate such behaviour in my team."

"But –", Emily tried to defend herself again.

"There are no buts. I'll meet you in my office in half an hour."

"But", she murmured another time, watching the trainer walking away, feeling the gleeful views of C.C. Everetts and her team-mates lying on her.

Officially Richard Gilmore had watched the field hockey game between Smith and Wellesley, because he had promised Susan Miller, a Wellesley girl he dated every once in a while, to cheer her. Unofficially he was here to watch those girls running over the grass in their tight and short tricots. And although neither he nor any other male viewer would ever admit it freely to a woman, the tricots and the bodies inside of them were the only reason why men attended those games. Field hockey simply couldn't be considered as a sport and he was sure it only had been invented to give the players the opportunity to lose some calories and showcase their bodies and legs in front of their idols.

Observing the encounter of the Wellesley and the Smith player on the parking lot had puzzled him hence. He remembered the fierce pass of the small redhead and the downfall of the dark-haired Smith player (her skirt had ridden up while falling and revealed a well-shaped right thigh and bottom line), but he never would've thought, they would take the whole coincidence seriously enough to attack each other at a parking lot. Or that one of them would be kicked out of her team for it.

Notwithstanding he couldn't understand her enragement, Richard felt slightly sorry for the Smith player. Since Susan Miller was still in the changing room, he decided to spend the waiting time with a chat to the brunette after the bunch had dissolved. He strolled towards the bench she was meanwhile sitting on, making a thorough inspection of her. He had already noticed her legs, which looked even better on this second view; same went for the rest of her body that was featured with sizeable breasts, although she was very slim otherwise. Thanks to her dark eyes and hair and the glowing cheeks she had almost something of an Amazon.

"It looks like you need a new sport", Richard started the conversation, it was always good to start it with a remark that showed interest and humour, women like that. "You'd make a heck of a football player."

Usually women liked it. Emily Johnson looked at him with an angry twinkle in her eyes, however. The last thing she needed, were stupid comments. "I don't remember having asked for your opinion", she replied therefore.

"Well, you didn't", Richard said rather stupid as he hadn't counted on such a reply.

"Why tell it to me then?"

"I tried to start a conversation."

"And why would you do that?"

Richard couldn't help to grin. Her snottiness had something. "You struck me during the game. And afterwards."

"Why thank you", Emily smiled sarcastically. "And for your further information: You don't start a conversation with saucy remarks, but with a 'Hello, my name is'."

To her relief, the guy's only reaction was the bevelling of his head and then he started to walk away.

To her disfavour he turned around after some metres and came back.

"Hello, my name is Richard Gilmore. May I?", he pointed at the bench and sat down without her affirmation. "You played a hell of a field hockey game today."

"My team lost", she remembered him, not knowing what was going on.

"Not your fault, you played a fantastic midfield."

"I'm playing centre forward."

"And you were fantastic."

"I was awful."

"You were not", he disagreed, although he hardly remembered more than her fall down. "That goal of yours was impressive."

"My goal was impressive", Emily replied dumbfounded, which encouraged Richard to continue.

"Yes", he nodded enthusiastically. "That's why I appealed to you. The way you bashed that ball into the goal was probably the most formidable shot I saw in my entire life."

Emily smiled benignly. "Was it?"

"Yes, the power and boatmanship knocked me for a loop", he continued praising something he never had seen or could rate. "Very professional, they'd affiliate you into the national team without a blink, if they had seen it. With you on the team, they'd win –", as she had started to giggle with the "loop" and laughed loud by now, Richard stopped and cleared his throat with slight embarrassment. "You didn't goal, right?"

"No", still grinning, she shook her head.

A beautiful smile, Richard thought and congratulated himself for his decision to talk to her.

"Neither did I goal", she went on. "Nor do you have any knowledge of field hockey."

"You caught me red-handed", he confessed. "I do have a very distinct knowledge of beautiful women, however. And you were definitely the most beautiful on the field."

"You better do not tell that the girl you're here for."

"How would you know, I'm here for a girl?"

"It's quite evident that you aren't here for field hockey."

"You win 2:0", Richard said, thinking about how to safe the situation. It annoyed him that she had debunked him completely and he looked like a pretty big jerk, now. "Still, I mean it. You were the most beautiful on the field and if I had known you before, I'd be here for you."

As Emily didn't know, if to feel flattered by his compliments or to be annoyed by his brazenness, all she answered was a short "Thanks". Fortunately, Robert Tadman showed up and she practically jumped off the bench. "Robert, there you are", she exclaimed with a relieved smile.

"Emily", he took her hand, kissing it lightly. "You look fabulous."

"Thank you", she smiled, Robert was really handsome and charming. _**He**_ knew how to treat women. "I'm afraid I have to reschedule our date, however."

"Why?", Robert asked visibly crestfallen.

"Well, something interfered", she evaded the question.

"Something more important than a trip to the Quabbin Reservoir?", he said it with a wink, still Emily felt horrible.

"Well, I. It's just that I -", she started, being unable to finish the sentence. Cowardly, she knew and hated herself for it. But elbowing other players and getting banned from the team wasn't exactly what she wanted Robert Tadman to know of her.

Richard Gilmore apparently thought differently. "She elbowed one of the Wellesley players, was kicked out of the team and has to report to her trainer's office, now", he jumped in.

Emily's jaw dropped open and she gave him a mad view, boiling with rage for the third time today. Not only because of Richard's remark, but because he didn't realize that he was interfering and didn't show the slightest inclination to go. This time she pulled herself together, at least as long Robert Tadman was here and they agreed on a new time.

"What on earth have you been thinking?", she snapped at Richard once Robert was out of hearing. "That was really the rudest behaviour I have ever experienced in my entire life. How could you tell him? And how could you not notice that your presence was unwanted? Are you some sort of idiot or what?"

Richard was wordless. No woman had ever talked to him like that. Never. Surprisingly, her directness impressed him not only, but sparked his interest for more than a chat on a parking lot. The girl was definitely dating material, he felt. "I'm sorry", he apologized therefore. "I really wasn't thinking."

"You can bet."

"What about a coffee in satisfaction of my stupidity?"

"You want to drink coffee with me?" Emily was more than puzzled. She called that guy an idiot and he wanted to spend time with her. Now that was something.

Richard nodded. "Yes."

"I have to go to my teacher's office and you're waiting for another girl", she remembered him.

"Then a drink later tonight."

"Not two minutes ago, I agreed on meeting Robert for a drink later tonight."

"What about tomorrow?", he staid obstinate, there was nothing to lose anyway.

"I have to study tomorrow."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"What's your major?", he dug deeper, nothing to lose and nothing lost, yet.

"History of arts."

"That's perfect", he grinned. "The Yale museum of art is fantastic. You'll love it, you'll have fun and you'll learn many things. Talk of killing three birds with one stone."

"I don't know", she hesitated, although she almost regretted venting her wrath on him as he (despite his lack of manners and tactfulness) seemed to be sort of a nice guy. So was Robert Tadman, she recalled, as well as Arthur Caine and Marcel Burton, the other two men who held the spots in her dating system. She wasn't in need of another one. Besides, she really had to study for a test.

"Please", Richard said with a smile.

Emily really didn't know why. Still she agreed.

To be continued

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ATN: Thanks a lot for the kind feedback. Made me smile :) - hands Beta flower -  



	4. The Allegory Of Impressing

**The Allegory Of Impressing Governed By Physical Expressions**

**- or -**

**A Frown And A Step Back, A Wrinkle, A Sigh **

Richard Gilmore contrived to date women and how to leave a mark. He knew how to compensate his rather unspectacular looks with charm and wit and how to make girls see things in him that actually weren't there. The power of words worked for him like a devoted servant for his master. And he let it work for him; there was nothing wrong in it after all: you can't impress someone, who doesn't want to be impressed and as he considered himself being a polite guy, he gave them what they wanted. Everything they wanted.

Still, Richard knew his exact limitations with all of his dates and never cut across them. Some of his friends (just like a high percentage of the male earth population) divided women into two very simple categories: either bonkable or not. Latter with the subcategories kissable or not, first with the subcategories intelligent or not. Although, he found this classification shallow and cheap, Richard couldn't deny that it was true somehow and sometimes he even found himself using it.

According to it he preferred dating women of category one, subcategory intelligent. They considered themselves as modern and independent, were a pleasure to talk to and (just like him) enjoyed life and dates and saw nothing wrong in having some fun (with all meanings of the word) without serious strings being attached. Whenever he met a member of category one, subcategory not so intelligent, he didn't say no either (he was a man after all and they had to offer a lot in the physical section), although they hardly interested him on a higher level. Still, he held them in regard as the pleasure was two-sided, easy to get and none of the girls ever would've considered a joint night as a promise for anything.

Because of promises and seeing them, Richard hardly ever dated category two. Of course, there were some beautiful and intelligent women in it, too, and he enjoyed being around them, talking, dancing and flirting with them. Unfortunately most of them considered three dates and a kiss good-night (if they were kissable) as a promise for a serious relationship or even an unofficial promise of a marriage however. Something he wasn't willing to offer as he already gave a girl the unofficial promise of a marriage. A very unofficial promise, they never even had seriously talked about this subject, still Richard was sure as hell that he and Pennilyn Lott would marry one day. Well, as soon as he had his graduation and a job and she'd be back from Florence, Italy where she was studying.

Meanwhile, both had agreed on going their separate ways, leaving each other all freedoms. Pennilyn, because she knew that Richard had to sow his wild oats; Richard because he trusted Pennilyn and as they've practically been a couple since they were 17, he knew her well enough to know that she was definitely category two. Kissable maybe, very kissable actually, but no chance that even the most versed Italian Casanova would be able to talk her into category one. Even he hadn't managed that so far, neither during her occasional visits home after months of separation nor during his visits in Florence last summer and this spring. But as he knew he'd have her in their wedding night at the latest, he easily could live with it.

With Emily Johnson, the girl he had met after the field hockey game between Smith and Wellesley, he wasn't quite sure in which category she belonged, yet. Actually he could already tell that she wasn't dumb, their conversation and her sharp answers had proved that. As she had shown temper, he hoped she'd be a category one girl, but then her conversation with that guy had been a typical category two talk. No matter what category she was in, he absolutely felt that she was dating material and he'd have a great afternoon and hopefully evening with her.

At least her looks confirmed Richard's hopes and presumptions. A red hair-band with white dots on it tied back her long, open hair and the light summer dress with the same colour and muster simply looked gorgeous on her. It accentuated her physical amenities perfectly, a paradigm for elegant and unobtrusive sexiness. Next to her promising looks, the date turned out to be a disappointment however. The girl he walked through the art gallery of Yale with had nothing in common with the girl he had asked out. It was as if she had sent her well-bread, polite and hence boring twin instead of coming herself. Talking of category two, not kissable. Not even interesting.

Regardless, Richard ran his well proven program. He talked about the pictures in the gallery, about those in Europe, about the Louvre and Titian. He tried to be charming and witty, without any success, not only did she bore him; he seemed to bore her as well, which mortified him somehow. As they stopped in front of Pollaiuolo's Hercules and Deianira he decided to start a last attempt before ending this debacle of a date.

"Hercules and Deianira by Antonia Pollaiuolo, circa 1470" he explained with a frown and took a step back, examining the painting intensely with a wrinkle on his face, sighing almost ecstatic after some seconds of silence. Something he did in front of most paintings as Emily had realized amazedly. "One of the most beautiful paintings in this gallery. One of the most tragic love stories in the mythology."

"Is it?", she got into it, hoping that she had found the decent tone that showed well-educated interest but not the enthusiasm she felt about the painting as well as seeing the original for the first time and the fact that Richard shared her opinion upon it. Sometimes she really wished that her nature would be more like the one everyone expected her, expected a young Lady to have, because the pretending tired her – especially today as Richard talked about so many things whether she had a completely different opinion about or that made her heart jump out of acceptance, because she had thought she was the only one with that opinion so far.

"Yes", he replied rather disappointed upon her cold and somehow disinterested reaction. "Do you know the legend of Hercules and Deianira?"

Emily shook her head, a brief glance into his eyes. The blue was really unusual for a man, she realized, just like several times before since their date lasted. "No", she lied as she was curious to hear is version. Besides, she liked the way he explained things, the sound and expression in his voice. She couldn't remember ever having dated or even met a man (despite her father, but Baldwin Johnson did not count), who had such a distinct knowledge of art and the stories behind it and it impressed her somehow.

"Deianira was Hercules' wife", he started to tell a story he had told dozens of times before in front of this painting. "The centaur is Nessus. Hercules killed him with his bow when he tried to kiss Deianira while carrying her over the river Euenos and she cried for help, just like Pollaiuolo painted it on this painting. Dying the centaur told Deianira that his blood had the magic power that would guarantee her Hercules' everlasting love, if she would put it onto his shirt. She didn't use it however until a servant told her that Hercules brought his old love as slave to their court in order to make her his lover. Deianira got jealous and send Hercules a shirt with the blood of the centaur - who had lied to her", a short, dramatic pause. "Instead of making Hercules loving her forever, the centaurs' blood slowly killed her husband. Broken by the fact that she had murdered the man she loved, Deianira killed herself with his sword."

"An entertaining story behind a beautiful painting", she said absentminded, while she actually and once again wondered why Deianira had been so stupid to trust someone, who had been shot by her husband.

Richard sighed, it really was no use and he had erred in Emily. No matter how great she looked, calling the legend of Deianira and Hercules "entertaining" showed a true lack of intellectual grasp. "Yes, it is", he confirmed, already walking over to the next painting, wondering how he'd be able to end the afternoon as soon as possible.

Emily Johnson had a hard time to hide her disappointment, when Richard suggested driving her home the moment they'd left the gallery. Nevertheless she smiled and agreed politely. There was nothing else for her but to agree, she hardly could tell him that she didn't want to go home yet. Getting kind of dumped was something she never had experienced before and it annoyed her a lot. Especially as she didn't understand what had been going wrong. She had been the picture perfect lady during the entire afternoon, biting her tongue more than once, trying very hard to show her best manners after she'd acted so impolite during their first meeting. It couldn't be her fault, she decided therefore, but Richard really must be the idiot she had considered him to be during their first conversation. A shame that she had wasted a Sunday afternoon, though it had been a quiet pleasant one until now, with him. That's what happened, if she dated outside her system and she confirmed on oath that she never would do it again.

"Here we are", Richard declared when they arrived at his car, opening the passenger door for her.

"Thank you", she said and got in, wondering how she'd survive the long drive to Smith with that guy on her side. Unbelievable that she'd erred in him. Unbelievable that he even hadn't invited her for a coffee. Unbelievably rude. What the hell was he thinking? For a moment she was tempted to give it to him straight, but she controlled herself. She had acted perfectly until now and she wouldn't forget her manners just because of this idiot of a guy. It wasn't worth it and she wouldn't begrudge that to him. Afterwards he'd possibly think… heaven knows what he'd think and actually she couldn't care less.

Still Emily was not really happy, when they finally arrived at Smith. Of course she was happy to get rid of him, but during the long and silent drive, she had enough time to go completely overboard for his impoliteness and it got harder and harder for her to keep it to herself. Hence, the first thing she did as soon as she closed the door of her apartment behind her was fizzing a thunderous "God", while dashing her purse onto the commode.

"Did you have fun?", her flatmate Melinda grinned.

"As much fun as you'd have at your execution. That man is probably the most impolite, ignorant idiot on this earth", Emily got down on one of the sofas. "Can you believe that he even didn't ask me to have a drink with him? There he schleps me through this museum for almost two hours and it even didn't come to his mind that I might be thirsty. Not to talk of the fact that it would've been the proper procedure to invite me for a drink. And not with one word, not with a single syllable he mentioned that he enjoyed the afternoon or that he wants to see me again."

Melinda's grin grew bigger. "Now that's what it is about."

"What do you mean?"

"It annoys you that there's a guy who doesn't like you."

"That's not true."

"Come on", she laughed and put away her book. "I saw you fretting about teachers, grades and classmates. Not to talk of waiters and C.C. Everetts. But never about a guy."

"Because no one ever dared to turn me down", Emily confessed offended. "He had no right to do so."

"But you turn guys down as well."

"That's something different."

"So you're allowed to break hearts, but no one else is?"

Emily bristled with slight amusement. "First of all: I never broke any hearts. Second: My heart isn't broken."

"I did not say it was."

"You suggested it."

"If you say so", she lifted a brow, giving her friend an intense glare.

"God, Sweetie", Emily sighed. "Don't give me that look."

"You like him, don't you?"

"Put that in the past tense."

"I see, I see."

"Don't make such a fuss about it", she demanded. "Of course I liked him; otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to date him. But it turned out that he isn't likeable at all and there you have the end of the story."

"Well, at least you dated him because you liked him and not because of his bank account."

"I never dated a man because of his account", Emily denied first, although Melinda knew her well enough to know the truth and gave her one of her looks again. "Maybe earlier", she agreed therefore. "But not anymore. Just look at Robert. I like him. I really do."

"But you aren't in love with him."

"You don't have to be in love to marry. Love is something you grow into."

"Welcome back to 1845."

"Very funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny. I just don't understand you."

"And as we had this talk dozens of times before, I doubt you ever will", Emily replied as patient as possible. "We're simply seeing this issue in a much too different light to agree ever."

"And I simply don't see what's wrong with falling in love."

"It complicates things."

"It's wonderful", Melinda exclaimed.

"Tell me what was wonderful about you crying your eyes out, because Steven bumped you."

"Well, that part really wasn't fun. But the time before was worth it."

"You're helplessly romantic, Sweetie."

"And you're helplessly pragmatic."

"Because I like it that way", Emily got up. "And now excuse me please; I've no intentions to fail in the test, because I wasted my time with an idiot."

"Why thank you."

"You know, I was talking about him."

"I know", Melinda nodded with a smile, watching Emily vanishing in her room. She'd had given up all hope already, to see Emily liking a guy enough to loose her temper and now – even if it was because of her hurt pride only, that was really something.

Despite Melinda's new insight and Emily's anger, the whole affair, Richard, would've probably been forgotten all too soon, if there hadn't been Robert Tadman and an invitation to a tennis match with his sister Moira and one of her gallants. A gallant who turned out to be no one less than the Richard Gilmore.

To be continued

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ATN: A big thank you to Melanie, again, who gave me some constructive criticism and you some more insights into Emily. Thanks to those who reviewed as well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the others :) 


	5. Game, Set, Match

**Game, Set, Match**

It was a tepid Sunday summer morning that, although the smell in the air promised it'd be a hot day, was simply made for a tennis match, just like the afternoon would be made for a swim in the cold sea. A complete day with Robert. Emily saw it as a good sign that they lately had started to see each other not only on Saturday evenings anymore, but on other days as well, just like they had spent every Sunday together since four weeks now. His sister Moira would be there, too and as Emily already had met her a couple of times, she hoped that it'd only be a small step until Robert would finally introduce her to his parents and propose. Actually this summer would be simply perfect for a proposal. Robert graduated in it and she'd graduate a year later – one year, the perfect span for an engagement and for Robert to settle down as business man. Perfect. Emily simply loved this word, although not as much as the meaning behind it. Perfect. Just like this day would be. Perfect. Just like this day definitely wouldn't be, Emily thought in horror, when she saw, who Moira's escort was.

She couldn't believe it. Just when she had been over the humiliation of getting dumped by this idiot, he had to reappear all of sudden. Not only that, no, she apparently had to spend a whole day with him. Well, at least Robert and Moira were there as well and she hadn't to cope with him all alone. Besides, she thought with a grin while plucking at the strings of her tennis racket, revenge is a dish best served cold. Maybe she was a better field hockey than tennis player, still she knew how to bang a hard and fast ball over the net and Richard Gilmore would be running and sweating for his infamy, wishing he never had entered the tennis court, tasting the humiliation of a defeat.

Although she really managed to give Richard a hard time, Emily took every chance to go for a victory after half of the game as Robert simply was an awful tennis player and hit only 30 of the balls slammed in his direction, a circumstance that not only his sister played on but Richard as well.

"Can't you work a bit harder?", Emily asked Robert as silent and kind as possible in the break after the first set therefore. "We're going to lose, if you don't."

"Come on, Emily", he grinned, patting her back. "It's only a game between friends."

"Even a game between friends must have a winner, Robert. And I do see absolutely nothing wrong in you and me being the winners", she smiled and took his hand, getting dangerously close to his body. "Actually we'd make great couple of winners."

"We really would", he answered, enjoying Emily's obvious and physical flirting, something she hardly ever did. "As we're a great couple per se."

Smiling Emily lifted a brow. "So, you're going to work a bit harder?"

"I will", he bowed down to kiss her and despite the fact that she hated public demonstrations of intimacy and was sweaty from the game and the slowly ascending heat Emily replied to his kiss longer than necessary, on the one hand to thank him, on the other hand to prove to Richard Gilmore that he really had been an idiot by dumping her.

Richard Gilmore indeed saw the kiss and couldn't help but to be astonished. After their date he never would've thought that Emily Johnson would kiss anybody, not to mention a kiss in public.

"Your brother and Emily - are they a couple?", he curiously asked Moira while pointing with his chin towards them.

"Well, he's dating her for a while, therefore I'd say yes", she laid an arm around his waist. "Robert isn't like you, you know. When he's dating a girl for more than three times, he has serious intentions."

"Me, too", Richard played the hurt one, which caused Moira to laugh.

"Sure", she giggled.

"Very sure. That's why I never date anyone more than three times."

"Why thank you, Mr. Charming, if I might remind you that this is our eleventh date however."

"We aren't dating, Moira."

"How would you call it then?"

"Spending some quality time with each other", he said with a big grin and caressed her bottom. "Qualitative first-class time."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you like me."

"Maybe", she explained, glancing at her brother and Emily, who sat at a table by now, sipping at their waters. "Do you know her?"

"We dated once", he confirmed. "A horrible date."

Moira couldn't help to feel slightly relieved. Not because of the fact that the date had been horrible according to Richard, but because of the fact that his statement only could mean that her younger brother was seriously dating a girl that deserved to be seriously dated by him. "I'm so sorry for you", she still continued in a teasing tone, maybe it was the eleventh date for Richard and her, still both had the silent agreement to not bother the other with unnecessary, private stuff that might cut the fun they had together.

Although Robert tried really hard, he and Emily lost the game 6:1, 6:7 and 6:3.

"Congratulations", Emily shook the hand of Moira with a kind smile, the one of Richard with a less kind smile. "What about a rematch?", she added.

"Without me", repulsing Robert held up his hands. "Five more minutes on this court and I'll probably collapse."

"I'm afraid, I'm too exhausted as well", his sister retracted as well.

"What about you, Richard?", Emily asked, actually being happy that neither Robert nor Moira wanted to participate. It was a thing between her and Richard after all and without Robert she would beat him, that was for sure.

"Why not?", he agreed, although he was exhausted too, still not exhausted enough to not accept a challenge. Besides, he was sure he'd win, she was a good player, maybe even as good if not better than him, but she was a woman and he outclassed her with force and kilter.

Unfortunately, Richard had underestimated the fact that the force of a woman grew with her anger (actually he had no idea that Emily was angry at him at all) and will to win, especially in Emily's case. That's why she practically bombed him of the court, winning the match after two sets only.

"Congratulations", it was now for a sweat-soaking and breathless Richard to say and he couldn't help to say it with slight admiration. "I guess you went straight to tennis from field hockey?"

"I can't tell that I'm playing much", she answered, which even wasn't a lie, her boatmanship had been horrible. Well, not as horrible as Richard's.

"Then you should join the team at Smith, I bet they need someone like you."

Emily knew it was wrong, still she couldn't contain herself. "I thought I'd make a heck of a football player?"

"So you started playing?"

"I can't tell that either."

"Well", Richard swept the sweat of his forehead once more, still having problems to breath. "Me, I can tell that I need a cold shower and drink now."

"You look like you do", she grinned, sampling the pleasures of her victory and his exhaustion.

"You don't look like you could do another game either."

Emily sighed with played amusement. "I beg your pardon? I'd easily outgun you again."

"Wonderful game", Robert shouted from the shady place where he and Moira had watched the game from. "What about a cold shower and drink, now? You two must be totally exhausted."

"Actually I just asked for revenge and Emily accepted it", Richard shouted back. "And I'm sure you won't outgun me this time", he added audible for Emily only.

"We'll see", she replied with sparkling eyes - the same sparkle that had attracted him on the parking lot, Richard simply couldn't figure this girl out.

"Are you crazy?", Robert got up and jogged onto the tennis court. "It's has probably ninety Fahrenheit by now, you'll get a heatstroke. Besides, we wanted to meet Carla and James at the beach in an hour."

"What if you and Moira go ahead and Emily and I'll join you later?", Richard answered instead of her. "Besides, we won't need longer than one and a half hour. Well, I won't need longer to win, shower and drive to the beach."

"Dream on", Emily whispered through bared teeth, being happy that none of the men had heard this lapse of hers, but both went on discussing the heat, the insanity of another game and finally the meeting place on the beach.

"As loser of the previous match, you might open the game", Emily invited Richard as soon as Moira and Robert had said goodbye.

"Ladies first."

Emily shrugged her shoulders. "As you wish", she said, thinking that some nice aces would lead her faster to the second and final victory. This time Richard's theory of men, force and kilter proved true however. Although Emily won the first set, Richard managed it to do so with the other two. Even if it'd been a matter of life and death after running over three hours in the glowing sun by now, Emily was simply unable to play it all out anymore, but felt as if she was close to a stroke, heart attack and different other causes of collapse and death. Without giving the trouble to shake Richard's hand, she walked to one of the benches at the court margin that was at least a little shady and sat down. Richard followed her quickly, although he stopped at the table and grabbed a bottle of water.

"Here", he gave it to Emily, while getting down next to her.

"You don't expect me to drink out of a bottle, do you?", she said with heavy breath while rubbing her left thigh that hurt like hell, although not as much as her right arm.

"You prefer to die of thirst?"

"No", she answered. "I only prefer it to drink out of glasses."

"You don't expect me to get up and get you a glass after you made me run over that court for three hours, do you?"

"A real gentleman would bring me a glass without hesitation, especially if he's the reason why I'm knocked out."

Richard smiled privately upon the suggestiveness of her last words; still he got up and (ignoring a mean stitch and a cramp in his right shank) walked to the table with the beverages on it again, filled one of the glasses with water and the poor rest of the almost completely melted ice and brought it to Emily. "Happy with my gentleman qualities?"

"Thank you", Emily ignored his comment and nobly sipped at her water, although she was thirsty as hell and could've emptied it with one gulp – which was exactly what Richard did with his bottle of water.

"Well", he said after they've been sitting next to each other for some minutes, both waiting for their exhausted bodies to get at least some energy back. "I think we should shower and change now, if we don't want Robert and Moira will wait too long for us."

"We should", Emily agreed and got up, only to sink back onto the bench with a painful fizzling, putting a hand on her left thigh. "Ouch" it slipped over her lips, although she hardly tried to do not show any weakness in front of Richard.

"Is everything alright?", he asked, although he could tell that it wasn't by the look on her face and the twitching of her thigh muscles.

"Yes."

"Let me see that", he said and carefully laid a hand on the thigh she held in pain, not having counted on Emily's reaction that was almost yelled.

"Don't you dare to touch me!"

Richard twitched back. "I'm just trying to help you."

"I can help myself perfectly."

"Alright", he shrugged with his shoulders. He was the last one to force himself up, if she didn't want help. "I'll meet you on the parking lot in half an hour then."

"Fine."

"See you then", he got up and walked to his bag, shouldering it. He really should leave her here all alone as that stubborn and proud girl hadn't deserved better, he thought, but then this wasn't how he had been raised. Hence, he walked back to Emily, who clutched her thigh with closed eyes, gently rubbing over it with a thumb. "You know that I'm here with Moira."

"I beg your pardon?", she stopped the needy massage of her cramped thigh and looked rather puzzled at him.

"I said that I'm with Moira and you know as well that I didn't ask you out a second time which is because I don't have the slightest interest in you, so you really don't have to fear a thing if you let me have a closer look at your thigh."

"Wonderful", she murmured hurt. "You're a real gentleman, aren't you?", she added hastily in order to cover it up.

"You want me to help you now or not?"

"Thank you, but no. I'm feeling better already", Emily lied. "I guess I'll see you in the parking lot in half an hour then?"

"That was the agreement."

"Sharp please, I don't want to have Robert waiting longer than necessary."

"So do I with Moira."

Despite that there were so many answers that came into Emily's mind she didn't use one of them as none of them would've been appropriate. Instead she got up without a further word, grabbed her bag and walked towards the clubhouse with her head held high, although her thigh was still twitching and aching horribly.

Somehow Richard felt it was a shame that Emily didn't wear her tennis dress anymore, but capri pants and a short-sleeved blouse. Still she looked good and he couldn't help to ask himself when he had become one of the men who were satisfied with some nice legs, tits and ass. You aren't, he reminded himself, that's why you didn't ask her out for a second time. You are, another voice told himself, otherwise you wouldn't share a bed with the stupid category one girls. It's fun, a third voice raised, for both of you, while this girl won't let you into her bed without a wedding band and thus your longing is stupid.

Richard rolled his eyes upon his inner conversation and tried to find a topic for a conversation with Emily. Finally he turned on the radio of his car in order to paper over the silence and to have something to talk about.

"Horrible", he commented "Twist and Shout" by the Isley Brothers, which was playing. "I simply don't understand why anyone would listen to this music or even buy it voluntarily."

"If you say so."

"And what do you say?"

She hesitated for a second. "I say that they're quiet famous and always will be, no matter what your opinion is. Besides it has rhythm", Emily eventually replied, taking the side of a band and song she loathed as she had no intentions to agree with him, but hoped he'd shut up until they'd be at the beach.

"Rhythm?", he lifted a brow. "If you consider an epileptic seizure to have rhythm, please, because dancing the twist is nothing else than faking one."

To Richard's surprise she quietly laughed upon his comment. "That's quiet a reaction for someone who just defended the rhythm of twist."

She looked at him. "What makes you sure that I'm laughing about your comment and not about you?"

"It's just an educated guess."

Emily didn't answer, but (trying to ignore the noise of the Isley Brothers) looked out of the window again, as she felt that she'd already said too much and it'd been stupid to show her amusement that obvious.

"Did you?", he asked hence.

"Did I do what?"

"Laugh about me?"

"I never would laugh about anyone."

"So you laughed about my comment?"

"Epilepsy is a serious illness and nothing to joke about."

"It must be the song you laughed about then."

"I like it."

"How can you like a song like "Twist and Shout"?", he tried to turn their conversation into a serious talk about music.

"Because it has rhythm", she repeated her first statement.

"Every music style has rhythm, in this case there's no beauty behind it however, it simply lacks composition and brilliancy. Songs like this, people like the Isley brothers who claim themselves to be musicians and artist, are an insult for real musicians and artists."

"Why don't you change the station, if you hate the song that much?"

With a sigh Richard did; it really had no use. Trying to have a decent conversation with her was like trying to talk with an advertising pillar and actually it bothered him that he still had the ambition to do so, after all he'd win nothing with it. Therefore, Richard decided to concentrate his attention on Moira for the rest of the day.

Emily was just about to kiss him upon his victory, huddling her sweaty and warm body to his when the sound of his name and a hand on his shoulder woke him up, a hand that burned like fire.

"What the…", he hissed and straightened up, being distracted by his dream and the cauterisation.

"If you lie here longer, you'll get blisters. Your back is red like a crayfish already", Emily, who was kneeing next to him, explained with an almost thoughtful voice.

"I must've fallen asleep", he murmured, realizing that it actually hadn't been her hand on his back, but his back that burned and strained. "Thank you", he added.

There was a small nod that caused her huge black straw hat to seesaw slightly. "You're welcome", she said and got ready to stand up, but Richard held her back.

"Where are the others?"

Emily pointed at some small dots in the sea. "Swimming."

"Why didn't you join them?"

"For the same reason you didn't, I suppose – although I wasn't stupid enough to fall asleep in the glowing sun."

"But you fell asleep", he couldn't help to grin.

"I was dozing", Emily corrected him and finally got up, wiping some invisible grains of sand of her knees. "In the shade. And that's were you should go to as well, if you don't want to –"

"Get blisters", he finished her sentence and she gave him an annoyed look. At least that's how he interpreted the expressions in her face, a face that wasn't only covered by the shadow of her hat, but enormous sunglasses as well. "Was that an invitation to join you in that shady place of yours?"

"Actually it wasn't", she said, already regretting she had woken him up or even having dragged herself on her aching feet and legs, but then (no matter how she thought of him) she hardly could've let him lying there. "As you just invited yourself however, it'd be impolite to deject you."

"I accept gladly", he grinned once more and followed her to some beach loungers under a sun shade.

They sat down and without a further word Emily grabbed a book, leaving Richard staring wholes into the hot air and getting bored soon, a circumstance which made him sense his sunburn and a full-blown muscle ache all too intense.

"You know", he noted therefore. "For someone who apparently thinks very highly of good manners, you're showing a lack of them."

Being puzzled by his brazenness once more, Emily looked up. "I'm definitely not showing a lack of manners", she explained cold.

"A good and polite host would entertain her guest instead of ignoring him."

"It wasn't my idea to sit next to each other."

"It wasn't, that's true. But you said it'd be impolite to do not invite me after I suggested it. Therefore, you're in the situation to be my host and it's your responsibility to threat me like a welcome guest – after all it's the only polite and proper thing to do for a host."

"Wonderful", she sighed and closed her book as no one, not even Richard, should be able to malign her host qualities. "So what do you want to talk about?"

"What about literature?"

"Alright."

"Good", he smiled satisfied. "Let's talk about literature."

"We already agreed on that."

"We did", Richard waited for her to say something, but she didn't and kept staring at the sea instead. "What are you reading?", he asked therefore.

"A Clockwork Orange."

Her answer threw Richard a curve, he never would've put such a lecture past her. "By Burgess?", he assured himself.

"Yes."

"The book about Alex or should I say Alexander the Large, his gang, rape and murder, betrayal and brainwash, suicide intentions after he –"

"Stop it!", Emily protested aghast. "I don't want to hear that."

"So you aren't reading Burgess' Clockwork Orange."

"I am and actually I want to continue reading it – which won't be necessary anymore, if you go on ruining it for me by telling me what'll happen."

"I'm sorry", he apologized honestly. "I didn't mean to ruin it for you".

"You did."

"A lot?"

Emily sighed. Instead of talking about the book she'd prefer to read. "I knew about the brainwash already, although I'd call it conditioning", she answered nevertheless.

"I consider brainwashing and conditioning the same as it has the same effect: Manipulating someone's mind in order to have him do what you want."

"It is not the same", she insisted, unsure why they even were leading this unusual conversation that hardly was about literature anymore or if she liked it. "Alex is still who he is, he still loves violence but can't carry it out anymore, while he would be a completely different, peaceable person, probably not even remembering his former life, if they'd brainwashed him."

"But you agree that they played with his mind and conditioning means to manipulate someone's mind?"

"Yes", she really couldn't help to agree, although she wanted to win the argument by now as he'd won the two matches already. "But although brainwashing and conditioning means the manipulation of a mind, they're conducted differently with different results and hence are different things."

"They aren't - brainwashing is a process which can have a lot of different effects on people's minds, just as there are lot of different ways to brainwash someone. Conditioning is one of them."

"Still there's a –", Emily started, but was interrupted by the shouts of the others who came back from their swim. Despite her pious hope to show him off, she was glad about the interruption, psychical manipulation wasn't exactly an uncontroversial topic and her knowledge about it was far too small to discuss it properly.

Unlike her, Richard couldn't tell whether to be glad about the interruption or not but he enjoyed Moira's attention on his sunburn and her caressing touches too much to regret the conversation very long. Still he couldn't help to look at Emily every now and then, inconspicuously listening to the shallow and polite talks she had with Robert, being the well-bred, boring girl all over again.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: So many reviews, thank you so much - bows - I'm glad you apparently enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoy writing it and I hope you like this chapter as well. 

I've no idea about tennis or its rules (why couldn't Emily have been a heck of a soccer player in her days?), so don't sue me, if I wrote nonsense – sue Mel. She did the Google research. As well as some great Beta-work. Thanks, you're my hero.

**_VelmaKellyOnline_:** Referring to Pennilyn Lott as Pennilyn Lott if it comes to her maiden name is nothing that has to be changed.

We first heard of Pennilyn in 3x08 _Let the games begin _(2002), when it was mentioned that Richard once was engaged to a girl named Lynnie Lott.

Second was 4x09 _Ted Koppel's big night out_ (2003). During this episode no one called Pennilyn directly by her surname or mentioned the name Lott in her presence nor was it mentioned that her husband has this surname. According to that no one can tell if Lott is her married or maiden name.

Later (4x16 _The reigning Lorelai_ (2004)) Lorelai I. however referred to Pennilyn as Pennilyn Lott in the letter she wrote the day before Richard's and Emily's wedding. It's unlikely that Pennilyn got married before Richard as he had dumped her for Emily and probably married her pretty soon after it (as other indices in the show proof).

Hence it's more likely that Pennilyn's maiden name is Lott than it is her married name.

If you aren't happy with that: Pennilyn's children should count their toes as Stephen is her cousin ;)


	6. Twenty One Bonfires And A Tomb

**Twenty-One Bonfires And A Tomb**

Due to his full social life and much to the dismay of his parents, Richard hadn't participated in finals in May. Consequently, as his graduation approached in two weeks, he drastically limited his social engagements with the ladies. Actually, he only left his apartment for the Monday evening performances of the Whiffenpoofs at Mory's and on Thursday and Saturday evenings for the meetings of the Scroll and Key society in the tomb. Usually they would sit in the imposing, windowless building, drinking and talking, playing cards or pool. But this Saturday in early August they had planned something different and definitely more entertaining, however.

A little bird had told them that the 21 Club of Princeton would hold its annual (and actually supposed to be secret) summer festival and as its members meanly had interrupted one of the Keys some months ago, bounding them naked to some trees on the campus of the Yale school of Nursing, where they had to wait in the cold spring night until some giggling students found them hours later. They planned to beat them at their own game.

Therefore, Richard and his friends were sneaking across the huge and lonesome beach property the 21 Club used for its meeting. The others had lit imposing bonfires at the sand (twenty-one in number) and built a huge tent that was decorated with silk scarves (twenty-one in number as well) in the colours of Princeton on the green some metres above the beach, just like the men were wearing black suits with orange ties and pocket squares and – to the surprise and shock of the members of Keys – the present women were clothed in black and orange as well.

"Damn it, what are they doing here?", Arthur Kingston hissed quietly. "Women have no place at such gatherings."

"It are Princeton men, do you expect them to give a damn about the rules?", another one replied, leading to a heated but silent discussion.

"Even Princeton men respect the code of honour."

"Apparently they don't anymore."

"What now? If every guy has a date, there must be 42 people and we're only nineteen."

"We should've brought our girls alongside as well."

"The element of surprise is still on our side", Richard finally interfered the conversation. "Besides, they actually did us a favour."

Arthur wrinkled his forehead. "What do you mean they did us a favour? They're in the superior number for heaven's sake."

"As I already said: We're still having the element of surprise, which should be enough to shanghai them – and take most of the girls with us and bring them to the tomb", Richard grinned self-confident. "What a nice pledge they'll make. A pledge that'll make those vain scallywags do everything we ask them to do."

"And we'll ask them to make idiots out of themselves", Arthur couldn't help to grin as well now. "You're a brilliant man, Richard Gilmore."

"Thank you", he replied and glared at his watch. "Spread out now. We'll make our surprise visit in thirty minutes."

Some hundred metres away at the actual festival, Robert spread a huge blanket over the sand and pointed Emily to get down.

"Won't you finally tell me what we're doing here?", she asked him curiously as he hadn't give her a hint upon the reason of the festival, but only a quiet impressing grown in the colours of Princeton.

"Celebrating", he replied while popping the cork of a bottle champagne and Emily raised a brow.

"Celebrating", she replied.

"At midnight the twenty-one, until now clueless, new members of our society will be brought here by some loyal alumni and take a solemn oath onto the flag of Princeton in order to take the places of me and the other graduates", he told her proudly.

"And why do you need us here? Most of us don't even visit Princeton's sister-schools."

"That's true. History however proved that it's better to choose women we know instead of twenty-one randomly chosen female students of our sister-schools. Women we can trust, women who won't breathe a word about this." Robert gave her a glass of champagne. "I can trust you, can't I?"

"Of course you can", Emily confirmed, although the whole situation made her feel uncomfortable somehow. "Still you haven't answered my first question: What were we cast for?"

"You'll hold the flags. Twenty-one maids of honour, twenty-one incarnations of Princeton", he drank a toast to Emily. "And you are the most beautiful incarnation a Princeton man can dream of."

"Thank you", she smiled and sipped at her Champagne. "I guess I should feel flattered."

"Yes", Robert took the glass out of her hand, placing it alongside his into the sand. "You should indeed", he added and leaned over Emily, starting to kiss her.

"Someone could see us", she fended him off when the kiss became more and more passionate.

"Don't worry; they're all too absorbed by the party and themselves."

Although she had some doubts, Emily replied to his new kiss, even being able to relax up to a certain point until she suddenly felt Roberts hand searching his way under her gown, slowly passing her knees. "Please Robert, don't", she asked him.

"Come on, Emily, we've know each other long enough."

"But we aren't engaged much less married."

Robert laughed silently. "But we will be one day", he explained while he caressed her cheek, his other hand still lying on her thigh.

Although she'd waited for a confirmation of her hopes for weeks, this definitely wasn't the situation she had wanted to hear it in and she wasn't able to be really happy about it.

"This isn't the right place and time, Robert", she explained and hoped he'd accept her "No" for good and without further discussions or consequences for their relationship.

"It's the perfect place and time. I waited for this night and moment ever since we got on serious terms", carefully he started to caress the inside of her thigh, hoping to convince her with doings and words. "And deep down you did, too. Why else would you have agreed on leaving the crowd and come down here?"

"Not because of this", Emily pushed him aside and smoothed down the seam of her dress.

"Alright, maybe you didn't", he couldn't help to feel alienated by her. "Still there's no reason to not sleep with each other. Actually there are more reasons that argue for it."

"I'm sorry, Robert", she disagreed. "This isn't going to happen here and it isn't going to happen tonight. In fact it's not going to happen for a long time and not until we're married."

"We're living in the 20th century, Emily. No one waits until he's married anymore."

"Then call me no one", she replied louder than she had intended, because she had trouble hiding her anger.

Robert was just about to repeat something, when screams and shouts came from the fairground. "What the hell", he murmured, jumped up and ran back to the tent.

Most of the members of Scroll and Key, each one carrying a screaming and struggling girl on his shoulders, had already vanished in the darkness when Emily finally arrived at the margin of the ground as well. Actually only three of the assaulters were left; two of them held torches, the third one spoke.

"You may choose a neutral middleman. He'll be given further instructions in front of the statue of Elihu Yale at midnight. Make sure he's sharp and no tricks, if you want to see your beautiful escorts again. That's why no one of you will follow us as well, do you understand?"

One of the Princeton men stepped forward; Emily remembered having been introduced to him earlier today, although she never would've thought that this small and unimposing guy apparently was the leader of the group. "You won't get away with this", he stated obviously enraged. "Especially as you can't keep the girls imprisoned forever."

"We can't do that, you're right", the spokesmen of the others said and although she only saw his back Emily finally recognized him, which made her gasp for breath. "But the reputation of you and your friends would sustain a huge damage, if you're too cowardly and honourless to help those innocent beings. Therefore you better accept our conditions."

"Our middleman will be at the meeting point", the leader accepted with a nod and bared teeth.

"Wonderful", Richard explained. "If you all will be so kind to enter this beautiful tent of yours now, in order to allow us an untroubled withdrawal."

Despite an unruly buzzing the crowd vanished in the tent as they had been told and Richard couldn't help to feel proud. Despite they had to change their original plan, it went like clockwork. Well, almost, as Arthur came out of his hiding, schlepping a girl with him he knew too well.

"Look what I've found", he said and Emily broke away of his grip.

"This is really ridiculous", she hissed into his direction. "Playing cops and robbers as if you're ten year olds."

"We're only paying an old debt", Richard replied, wondering what she was doing here until he eventually remembered that he had seen Robert Tadman's face in the group. "A debt that is none of your business."

"It's not any of the business of the girls your friends took away either. They must be scared to death!"

"The others enlightened them as soon as they were at the cars and instead of being afraid they probably enjoy it. Which damsel wouldn't love to be rescued by her knight after all, besides they'll be having a marvellous time in the tomb", he said.

"The tomb? You're bringing them to a –", she shouted out loud, feeling a hand on her mouth the next moment.

"How could you tell her where the others are?", Arthur asked him angrily, trying to cope with the struggling girl in his grip.

"Leave her alone", Richard demanded and pulled Emily at her elbow and towards him. "And you better not try to shout again", he warned her and she closed her already opened mouth again. "I'm afraid we have to take you with us as well due to my unthoughtful talkativeness."

"What if I refuse to come with you?"

"This is nothing to discuss, Emily."

"And once again you're proving what a gentlemen you are."

Richard couldn't help to laugh. "I guess, we should be going now", he explained and took Emily's hand, leading her to their car. To his surprise her only resistance was an angry snort.

To be continue

* * *

ATN: 21 Club and Scroll and Key are existing secret societies of Princeton and Yale, just as there's a windowless building called the tomb at Yale which is used by the Scroll and Key society, the rest is all made up however.

As always I've to thank Mel, who's a wonderful Beta and support. A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, too.


	7. Vodka Rummy

**Vodka Rummy**

Emily couldn't help to feel impressed by the building that Richard had referred to as the tomb, not by the ornate cladding of the outside only, but by the inside as well. It mainly was composed upon an enormous room, which was enlightened by candlelight and four ingles only that bathed the apparently amused society and its interior in a warm, orange light. There was a lounge in front of each fireplace, a pool table and smaller card tables were evenly spread in the room and an altar similar ridge in its middle was graced by a big round table with a symbol on it and 15 chairs.

"Welcome to our modest harbourage", Richard said. "I don't have to mention that you are the first female visitors ever since it was built in 1869, do I? Actually and usually only members of our society have admittance to this sanctuary", he looked intensely at her. "Can I trust you enough to be sure that you will not breathe a word about it?"

"You're the second one to ask me that tonight", Emily answered, wondering why those societies had to make a secret out of everything, still involving people without having asked them before and then making them swear to do not talk about it. She had a good mind to call the editors of every university paper in the whole country as soon as this puerility was over. "Am I inspiring so less confidence?"

"You aren't", Richard said. "Still I don't know you well enough to know if it's only illusiveness. It's easy to be completely wrong about someone, don't you agree?"

Emily gave him a vexed look. "Are we still talking about keeping this secret?", she couldn't help to ask.

"Maybe", Richard winked with a smile. "But now make yourself comfortable and excuse me please. My brethren and I have some important things to discuss", with that he left her alone and Emily folded her arms with a frown. For her taste this strange day was definitely pulling too many unforeseen circumstances out of its bag.

Unlike the other girls, Emily couldn't enjoy the visit in the tomb, but sat secluded and watched the happenings that became more and more lively with the passing of the time and the served alcohol. Although she loathed the reason why she was here, she was happy that she wasn't in Robert's presence right now as she was still angry about his behaviour at the beach. Anyhow she couldn't help but rack her brain about the possible consequences of the scene. Sure, he had said that they'd be married one day, which was before she had pulled him away however. But if he really should take her refusal of sex as a reason to split up, she felt, she should be glad that she wouldn't end up married to such a man. Such a man. Robert wasn't such a man. He had proved that he had serious intentions and as a man he probably saw some aspects of their relationship, of a relationship between man and woman, in a different light. Maybe she simply should've done it, if now or on their wedding night, where was the difference after all? But then he even hadn't proposed until now and it always had been told to her that a respectable girl didn't sleep with a man before marriage. Actually her mother had a midwife talk to her on her twelfth birthday, who illustrated to Emily (with details probably not healthy for a twelve year old) that the act of sex was something disgusting and unpleasant, which unfortunately was a part of married life, necessary for procreation and therefore had to be done without objection whenever the husband craved it. Although, Emily had heard diametrically opposite opinions about it ever since she visited Smith, she couldn't help to have her doubts and wasn't keen to find out the truth until it was inevitable, especially as the thought of being committed and naked, as well as the tremendous intimacy the act stood for, made her feel uncomfortable. It even scared her.

"Here you are", Richard jolted her out of her thoughts and sat next to her, wanting to pass his glass of vodka to Emily, but she shook her head. "Well, more for me", he smiled and sipped at it. "I have good news by the way: You should be free by the crack of dawn."

"That's nice", she replied reticently.

"Why don't you join our celebration instead of sitting here all alone?"

Emily didn't know what to answer or how to tell him that she actually wanted to be alone without risking questions. "What was your ransom demand?", she detracted therefore.

Richard grinned. "I can't tell you, otherwise I'll ruin the show for you – a marvellous show that will be."

"Oh."

"Was that an "Oh, how lovely and exciting" or an "Oh, leave me alone with this" "Oh"?", Richard asked, the alcohol had loosened his tongue and reservation already and Emily's looks alongside her obviously chosen isolation gave him a incentive and excuse to search her presence.

"Just an "Oh"."

"Alright", Richard nodded and drank a gulp of vodka. "May I ask you something?", he raised his voice again after some minutes, although he actually hadn't the need to say something to fill out the silence, but strangely was fine with it. Nevertheless he was curios to know.

"I can't bar you from doing it, can I?", she answered while she had been happy that he hadn't tried to keep up the fruitless conversation and her hopes he'd finally leave her alone vanished into thin air.

"Why did you come with us?"

"I had no choice, you told me that yourself."

"But you didn't even try to get away and actually I would've bet that a woman who elbows innocent field hockey-players after the game and weathers three tennis matches in a row would fight it tooth and nail."

"Did it occur to you that I could've been glad to have a reason to leave the party?", Emily replied honestly, not only to Richard's but to her surprise as well.

Although he was dying to know the reason, he felt it was better to not ask her further questions, if he didn't want to throw her away irrevocable – something he didn't want to as he was still too curious to find out more about her. Hence, instead of a verbal answer, he gave her his glass again and this time she took it with a thankful smile and drank.

"Thank you", she managed to say, hardly trying not to cough as the undiluted vodka burned in her mouth, gullet and finally stomach. Because she somehow liked the warm feeling that spread in her body afterwards, Emily took a second sip however.

"You're welcome", he replied amused by her reaction. "Any chance, I can talk you into participating in this exclusive party of ours?"

Emily shook her head, she really wasn't in the mood, as she was tired and wanted to go home.

"Anything else I can talk you into?", he dug deeper, hastily adding a "Like a game of rummy?" as he didn't want her to get the question wrong. "After all it's still a long time until dawn and playing cards is always a pleasant pastime."

"You don't have to entertain me, Richard. I'm fine. Just go and enjoy the party."

"Apparently you draw a conclusion about my host qualities from yours."

His reply made her smile, besides she hadn't been thinking a lot about Robert and the incident since Richard was here, therefore she agreed with the hope for some distraction.

"Give me five minutes", he said, vanished and came back with a pack of cards, another glass and a bottle of vodka. First they hardly spoke while playing, but exchanged teasing comments only whenever one of them laid a card imprudent. Thanks to the vodka and the fact that both enjoyed the game and the tart comments of the other, they soon couldn't help to smile and eventually laugh more and more, finally not enjoying the game and comments only, but each others presence as well.

"40 points", Richard announced and laid some closely connected cards onto the table.

"Let me see those", Emily demanded, suspiciously looking at them.

"Why?", he protested. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I don't, you've been cheating the whole evening long."

"I never would do something like that", repulsing he held up his hands and put on the most innocent face his repertoire offered.

"No?", she grabbed the cards before he had a chance to bar her from doing it and unfolded them, bringing a nine of spades out of the hand that otherwise consisted of tens. "And why does this ten look like a nine to me then?", she exclaimed triumphantly.

"Lack of imagination?"

"Sure", Emily rolled her eyes with an amused smile. "30 points", she wrote down. "Here you go."

"You can't do that", he protested with a grin. "It's forty."

"It's only three tens, not four."

"Maybe that seems - this nine is going to be a ten as soon as she's grown up, however. I don't see why you'd want to hurt her feelings by not letting her count. After all it's not her fault that she's still so little. You really should show her and her ambitions more respect."

"Respect?", she snorted, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, respect", he backed up. "In fact I demand you to apologize to the nine for your rude comment", with a sigh he looked at the card. "Poor thing you, I know she can be very tough though."

"Stop it", she demanded, although she couldn't help to laugh anymore. It was goofy, yes, his comments were, still she enjoyed his airiness, the airiness of their gathering as it was something she only knew of her gambling's with Hopie so far.

Richard made a face and fluttered the spade nine. "Only if you apologize to my little friend here."

"Even, if you make me drink a whole bottle of vodka, there's no way I'm going to talk to a card, Richard."

"Let's see", he lifted his glass with a wink. "To the nine of spades, a hell of a ten you are, although Emily denies it", he sipped at his vodka, realizing that she didn't make the slightest inclination to take hers. "You're failing me and my hopes to win. Take a sip", he asked her.

"So that's your plan", she smiled. "Making me drunk in order to win."

"Making you drunk in order to see you talking to a card", he leaned over to her.

"As I already said: No matter how much vodka you force me to drink, I'm not going to talk to your spare nine or any other card. And now let's continue the game."

"I accept this demand under protest only."

"Whatever", she replied, and laid down all of her remained cards. "Rummy", she said. "You and your nine of spades should look for a new field of activity, if you want to win a flowerpot."

"The night is still young", he took the cards and started to shuffle them. "And the nine of spades and I will prove you wrong."

"If you say so", she grinned and lifted her glass. "Here's to you and your nine of spades", she eventually took a sip. "And to your feeble attempts to beat me."

Richard couldn't help to grin. She really was something and he wondered how or why she would act different to the wonderful company she was right now.

"Ladies and Gentlemen", a guy standing on the round table raised his voice while thumping his glass with a spoon. "It's a pleasure for me to announce that the moment for the big finale of this wonderful night has arrived. Please take your private belongings and follow me to the scene of this unique and memorable event." With that he jumped off the table and a wave of excited shouts, giggling and laughs filled the room as the party society headed for the exit.

"Well", Richard said and laid his cards on the table. "As I was about to lose another game, I can't tell that I'm disappointed about the interruption. Besides, we're in for a historical moment dozens of Yale generations will fondly remember while Princeton will look at it with shame for the rest of its pathetic existence", he grinned mischievous and Emily wrinkled her forehead.

"You aren't going to make them do something dangerous, are you?", she asked as Robert, beach scene or not, was among the Princeton men who'd do whatever they were supposed to do.

"I can reassure you, just something that'll bruise their ego and pride", he got up and offered Emily his arm. "Coming?"

Emily nodded, grabbed her purse and got up as well. Although she was tempted to, she didn't take his arm, but flounced to the door of the tomb without his escort. The night was over. Moreover Robert was out there and she didn't want to give him a wrong impression as her refusal probably did that already.

Just when they entered the outside, the sound of male singing started to fill the morning air and they followed it until they arrived at the statue of Eli Yale. The steaning image of Yale's founder was encircled by twenty-one men, who held each others hands and faced the statue, presenting the curious onlookers their backs, which were only covered by a huge and painted blue Y.

"_So let us strive that ever we may let these words our watch-cry be, where'er upon life's sea we sail: "For God, for Country, and for Yale"_", they finished the song and the crowd (despite the time and fact that most students had left Yale for the holidays already, there were many, the word had spread like a wildfire on the campus and further) started to clap and hoot, requesting another song, dances, handstands and flips, while the Princeton man tried to put on the coats that lied at their bare feet with as much dignity as possible.

"Oh my god", Emily murmured into the agitate bawling, blood surged to her cheeks.

"Priceless", Richard laughed and whistled with his fingers. "I hope you took some quality pictures", he turned to a member of the university's newspaper, who stood next to them.

"The sunny side of them is captured on film and for eternity", his counterpart grinned and packed his camera away. "That'll make a marvellous title-page for today's issue, finally something that enlightens the silly season", he added and took his leave, hastily running into the direction of the Yale Daily News.

"I'd say this picture was worth staying awake all night long", Richard said to Emily.

"Yes", she replied without looking at him, trying to hide her actual feelings about it. "You'll have to send me a copy of the paper."

"Why don't you wait until it appears? I'll keep you company of course. We could have a coffee and breakfast, actually I'm starving."

"That sounds nice", Emily lost her way, wondering how to interpret Richard's invitation and the heart jump his suggestion had caused. They both must've drank too much vodka, she assumed, at least it was the only reasonable explanation she could come up with. Reasonable. That was the catchword. "However, I should be checking on Robert now. After all he did this to free me and I'm still standing here with someone who could be considered my hijacker."

"Of course", Richard nodded with a fake smile, conceivably Emily was right. "Yes."

"Alright then", she nodded too, raising her brows and taking a step back. "I'll see you, I guess."

"Probably."

"Yes, probably", she agreed and continued, before she could stop herself from uttering the thought. "Why all of sudden?", she thus heard herself say and bit her tongue.

"What do you mean?"

For a second Emily hesitated. Her mother and conduct teachers would give her a dressing-down, if they'd know how she was acting in the presence of a man. As it was too late to retract her question and inadequate behaviour and she actually had forgotten her education numerous times this night, she decided to get an answer at least. "Why did you invite me for a coffee all of sudden?"

"Why not?"

"You had that chance already, but back then you didn't. Moreover, you even were so kind as to tell me that you haven't the slightest interest in me."

"You're right", Richard decided to be honest as the truth was the only reasonable explanation he had. "I'm not interested in the girl I was in the Yale Art gallery with at all."

"Why, how charming", Emily stated angry and hurt and Richard hastily continued.

"I like the girl I met on the parking lot however, the one I played tennis with and talked about Clockwork Orange with. The one I spent tonight with. I'd love to get to know her better as she's the one worth investing the time to get to know, I think."

"There is only one girl, Richard. And this girl will go now", she hissed and turned around.

"Emily, please don't be mad", he grabbed her hand. "I didn't mean to offend you. I only wanted to ask you out for a second time as I really enjoyed tonight - and so did you as far as I can tell."

"Maybe", she admitted with compressed lips.

"So – what would you say, if I'd invite you for a coffee or drink sometime?"; he repeated his invitation and softly squeezed her warm hand that still laid in his.

Emily sighed and closed her eyes, hoping it'd help her to get rid of the strange feeling in her stomach. "Alright", she eventually agreed and turned around to face him, although something told her she shouldn't do either one: facing him and accepting. "I'd say alright."

"That's great", he smiled and wondered, if he, public or not, should take the bait and bow down and kiss her. "That's really great."

"And I really should be going now", Emily stated softly and a disappointed Richard realized that he had been thinking too long about whether to kiss her or not and the convenient moment had passed.

"I'll call you to settle a date", he suggested, meanwhile realizing that he didn't want to risk that she'd change her opinion. "Or even better – I'll pick you up at five o'clock tomorrow. I'm a Whiffenpoof and we're always performing at Mory's on Monday evenings, you could listen and we could have one or two drinks afterwards. What do you say?"

"Why not", she stated taken by surprise. "Tomorrow at five o'clock it is."

"I'm looking forward to it", he slightly kissed her hand. "Goodnight Emily", he added and vanished in the crowd without giving her the chance to say anything else.

To be continued

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ATN: This chapter is dedicated to Valerie, her zero points and her realisation that it's "Robert" not "Roger" – and to her wonderful and unique reviews. Keep them coming as I simply love them and they make me typing the new chapters faster than any answer in any quiz chat, even if I'd win a new car instead of your lovely banners. 

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed, too. You're amazing readers and reviewers just like Mel is the most amazing Beta in this universe and there wouldn't be the dialogue between Richard and Emily while playing cards without her request.


	8. Daddy Is A Yale Man, Daddy Is A Jerk

**Daddy Is A Yale Man, Daddy Is A Jerk**

Richard Gilmore loved the Whiffenpoofs, he probably loved them more than Scroll and Key and Alpha Epsilon Pi all together. The Monday performances at Mory's were the secret highlight of his week and it rankled him that this one was the last but one. Therefore, he sang with all his lifeblood, almost drowning the others out with his verve as he tried to give the performance of his life. He hardly would ever get another chance to sing alongside the Whiffenpoofs after all and without even noticing it he wanted to impress a certain girl sitting in the audience with his performance as well.

Emily was really impressed, although it wasn't his singing ability itself, but the fact that he seemed to sing with all his lifeblood and it made her wonder what kind of a man this Richard Gilmore was. It made her wonder, how he could find fault with her and accuse her of acting as if she were two different girls instead of one while he seemed to be two different men just as well. Of course she spent a lot of energy and effort into presenting her best sides, not just because it had been taught to her, but because she loathed her short-tempered temperament that was not inappropriate only, but had turned things into a mess more than once despite she hated messes as they were far from perfect. Far from perfect. Actually this bothered Emily the most. It bothered her how he could like it and how she could like him for liking and being something she did not like – imperfection.

Emily got up and walked towards the restroom. The way she moved made Richard abandon some notes of "Daddy is a Yale Man", which was answered by the elbow of his neighbour and fellow Whiffenpoof James in his side, reminding him to sing on. The way she moved alongside her newly applied lipstick when she came back from the restrooms after some minutes, the way she sat down and laid her hand on the shaft of her glass of wine again, the small sip she took after some seconds, it all made him think that she had no idea that he or anyone else in this crowded place was looking at her, noticing her. It made his head cinema starting, offering him all variations from prurience to secureness. It made him abandon some other notes and feel the elbow of James in his side again. Without taking his eyes of Emily, Richard cocked up the rest of the song.

Richard used the intermission to head towards her table and sit next to her instead of joining the others at the bar. "And?", he asked while he pointed the waiter to bring him a Scotch. "We're good, aren't we?"

Emily snorted amused by his tremendous self-confidence. "Yes", she nevertheless had to agree. "Although I can't tell that I'm a big fan of battle songs praising Yale."

"You apparently spend too much time with Princeton and Harvard men, we've to change that", he grinned.

"Do we?", she raised a brow.

"Yes", he said and leaned over to her. "And believe me, by next week you're going to love our football medley and join the bow wow wow's wholeheartedly."

"We'll see", she answered vaguely as she wasn't sure if he had just invited her or if he was phrasing.

"You'll see - and hear - a perfect interpretation of "Down by the Salley gardens" and "Bye, Bye Blackbird" now", he took the glass the waiter just had brought. "Thanks", he nodded towards him and drank.

"Sounds nice."

""A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square", "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" and "Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair"", he continued and realized once more how beautiful the reverberation of the scanty lights in the room looked on her dark hair and in her eyes. "Something we really have to discuss by the way", he hence couldn't help to add.

"What do you mean?", she asked puzzled.

"Your hair."

"My hair?"

"Yes, I want to know everything about its background. The one of your hair and eyes, the reason you look like that beautiful princess from far away you look like."

"I –", she started with blushed cheeks, flattered and surprised. "One of my forefathers", she cleared her throat and tried to concentrate. "He was married to an Indian."

"Tell me more about it."

"I don't know much more."

"Family secret?"

"Well, kind of."

"And –", he gestured her to continue.

"God, Richard, why would you want to know that?"

"It sounds like a good story to me."

"It isn't", she denied and drank some wine, but Richard staid dogged.

"Tell me, so I can judge myself."

"I – ", she shook her head and took another sip. "Well, he met that Indian girl, fell in love with her and married her, although the family wasn't thrilled about it. Even almost two hundred years later my grandmother used to call her the savage and said that his soft spot for dark eyes almost had destroyed and ruined the family. Still their son took over the family business and well, he married and his children married and their children married and eventually there was me."

Richard smiled. "And your dark eyes and hair."

"That as well", she murmured, still unable to get rid of the self-consciousness his flirting and compliments had caused.

Richard sensed it, pink cheeks and dark eyes staring at the glass in her hand, a bite on her lower lip made him sense it and although it made him smile even more, he decided to ease her. "So, your family owns a business?"

"_The Johnson Trade Inc_.", she affirmed glad about the topic change. "Founded in 1657 as _Janssen and Sons_. 300 years of trading with everything from agrarian machines and farm animals over wine, beer and hard liquors to seeds, spices, silk and whatever was needed and lucrative. Right now they're exploring the plane and car part market."

"Looks like you're a good catch", Richard said with a wink. And what a good catch she was, he thought, after all he knew about the company it was worth millions and Emily's uppish attitude suddenly seemed to be self-evident. A shame and waste, but self-evident. "Although I didn't know that Carl Johnson has children, I always thought he's a die-hard bachelor."

"He is, I'm his niece", she answered, knowing what to expect and Richard's face clearly showed the unavoidable rattling of his brain. "Baldwin Johnson is my father", she decided to curtail the whole thing quick and easy. "The artist. You might've heard of him as well."

"Baldwin Johnson is your father?", Richard exclaimed shocked before he could help it and blood surged to his face. "I mean, I –", he started to stammer, he had heard some stories about the crazy, old painter and none of them helped him to say something nice or excuse his stupid talkativeness. He could've kicked himself, just when he finally had managed it to get closer to her, he screwed it up. "This is –"

"It's alright", she interrupted him. "I know what people are saying about him. Actually, I probably heard more people referring to my father as screwball, crackpot and jerk than referring to him by his name", she made a pause and this time it was her to notice that her company felt all but comfortable. It was cute somehow, still she didn't want him to feel uneasy around her but to enjoy her company. "He's writing letters to Picasso for almost 40 years now", she said therefore. "He's obsessed with that man and the idea that he invented cubism. And when we were in Paris one year ago, my father went to his house every day and as she felt someone should have an eye on him, my mother forced me to go with him. We went there every single day, Richard; all I saw of Paris was the driving route from our hotel to Picasso's house and back. I spent eight days of my life sitting on a bench staring at his house from the crack of dawn until midnight, although Picasso even wasn't in town. And when he eventually was at day nine, when he eventually showed up my father got up and made a sally. And you know what Picasso said when he was finished after ten minutes of shouting and blaming and reproaching without even gasping for breath? He smiled and said: "It's a pleasure to meet you face-to-face at last, Baldwin", nodded, turned around and vanished in his house. Can you believe it? He called him Baldwin although my father hadn't mentioned his name. Picasso knew that American man shouting at him only could be Baldwin Johnson as he apparently had read his letters. And my father looked at me, said "Tell your mother, I took the next plane home, I'll see you in two weeks" and walked away as well. And he whistled Richard. Whistling he took a cab and left me standing there in the middle of the curious onlookers that had come together without a penny in my bag to get back to our hotel that was four miles away", she closed the story, a story she never had told anyone before and Richards's laughter made even her smile about it.

"You laugh", she nevertheless blamed him in a mocking tone. "But back then, I thought, I'll die of shame, anger and raw feet."

"I'm glad you didn't", Richard said and wiped a tear out of the corner of his eyes. That was it, he felt, the way she had talked, her voice and the tone in it, her facial expressions and gestures – it was her. That was the girl behind the curtain of proud, boredom and perfect education.

"Well", Emily shrugged her shoulders and answered the intense look he gave her. "Me, too", she added with a broad smile and by now she started to fear that he'd think she must be an idiot due to all her smiling. But she couldn't help it, she simply couldn't.

The performance of the Whiffenpoofs lasted forty more minutes and although Richard enjoyed it, he coevally couldn't wait for it to end, get back to Emily and continue their conversation. After he had learned enough about her to satisfy the biggest curiosity (and Emily actually had refused to answer anymore questions), Richard eventually suggested to change the place and dance. Dancing with her, he thought, was the perfect excuse for body contact as well as the perfect way to find out if he could risk it to go a bit further by the end of the date. During their time on the dance floor he slowly (and as he hoped unobtrusively) had minimized the distance of their bodies from the predetermined one to a close one that allowed him to feel almost every part of her body on his.

She felt good, she smelled good. Her hair did, a sweet and yet tart mélange of orange blossoms, jasmine and something that reminded him of powder and fresh laundered clothes and Richard wondered how her neck would smell and taste like, how the hollow of her elbow and knee would, her stomach and lips, the spot between her breasts and legs. He knew he probably would never find out, she wasn't that kind of girl, she wasn't category one, still the imagination of it filled him with a shimmering longing and gratification.

Although he hated it to interrupt the physical contact and what came with it, Richard had to suggest making a pause after they had danced over an hour without a break and the band lately had changed to Foxtrot and Chief again after some slow songs. Despite he claimed himself to have a good condition, he needed to sit down and drink something and Emily felt the same. Not that she hadn't enjoyed dancing with him, she had. More than that, his closeness, the smell of his clothes and the warmth of his body had blinded out the crowd, there only had been the music, the steps and him. During the last dances her feet however had started to bother the pleasure and killed her by now. She hadn't known that they would dance and therefore wore shoes that definitely weren't made for dancing or even walking longer distances than from her door to his car into Mory's, some trips to the restroom and back.

"Emily", she heard her name, when she stood in the restroom of the dance hall and refreshed her make-up while she hardly tried to resist the urgent need to get rid of her high heels as she knew it would only get worse, if she'd take them off and put them back on again.

"Sweetie?", she exclaimed surprised, not able to figure out if it was a pleasant surprise or not – after all she hadn't told her room-mate and friend that she had seen Richard after their disastrous first date, though she didn't know why. "What are you doing here?"

"The girls and I wanted to have a nice evening. Underline the wanted, however, no nice, single men in here", she sighed and opened her purse.

Emily wrinkled her forehead. "The girls?"

"Sylvia, Clara and Anna Sue", Melinda grinned. "But I can't blame you for not noticing us, you seemed to be very distracted."

"I wasn't", Emily protested, suddenly knowing why she hadn't told Melinda a single word.

Her counterpart rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. She had seen them dancing and although Emily denied it, Melinda could tell both had been more than distracted. "Sure", she stated dryly, knowing that the Emily she knew would try to talk her way out – which she did.

"It's the horrible lightening in this place, you hardly see more than half an inch. Actually I'm surprised that there haven't been some crashes and injuries yet. Someone really should have a serious talk with the owner of this place and point that danger out."

"The lighting", Melinda smirked and started to re-tighten her lipstick. "Of course", she mumbled with lips stiffed to an O. "That's why you probably even didn't realize that not even a leaf would have fit between your bodies."

"The bad lighting is probably the reason that gave you this impression. This wrong impression", Emily replied, while she tried to look as uninvolved as possible, adjusting some lost strands of hair back to their place.

"I'm sorry", Melinda put her lipstick back and reached for her powder. "My fault. I was taken by the bad lightening and assumed you like him and enjoyed the tight dancing – a tight dancing that never happened of course."

"It didn't", she stated once more and felt as if Melinda had caught her red-handed doing more than just dancing. "I accept your apology, however and although you should know me better than to assume things just because of bad lighting."

"As it looks like you're having a terrible time - why don't you join me and the girls? We were about to leave and drive back to Smith anyway."

"You are?"

"Yes – as I already said, the offer of handsome, single men tonight is like none. And you really should join us, honey. Just imagine the _idiot_ could have the horrible idea to kiss you good-night later", Melinda teased Emily.

"You think he would?"

"Maybe the lighting is bad, still I would recognize a sensual glance of a man even in the dark. And he gave you more than one of these glances."

"He did?", she dug deeper, despite she knew that Melinda would wing it and she hated herself for giving her the opportunity to.

"Yes", Melinda answered while she tried to do not laugh upon her friend's strange behaviour, a behaviour that clearly showed that usually conservative and respectable Emily didn't mind such glances at all. "So – are you coming with us?", she added, hoping Emily would finally confess that she actually liked the guy and wanted to stay.

Emily swallowed; Melinda had put her into a corner. Whether she confessed the truth – whatever the truth was – or she continued to play this game and saved her face. "Yes", she eventually agreed with a fake smile. "Of course. Thank you for the offer."

Richard couldn't believe it. He simply couldn't figure out why Emily would want to go or why she wouldn't want to go with him. She had enjoyed the evening; he could tell that. He would swear every oath on it, for heaven's sake and now she ditched him. She really ditched him. The only reason he could come up with was that she had just pretended it, though he couldn't imagine that she or anyone else was such a good pretender. "Is that your payback?", he asked her flat footed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, I rebuffed you after our first date and now you rebuff me?"

"No", she exclaimed shocked. "It's not. I'm just – I really enjoyed tonight, Richard."

"Why are you going then?"

"Because I –", she sighed. Wonderful, she had screwed it up just because she hadn't been able to confess to her friend that she liked that man. She liked him, she finally realized upon her thought. She liked him. She really did. She did. And she wanted to see him again. She did. She had to. "It really has nothing to do with the fact that I did not enjoy tonight. In fact I don't remember when I had an evening as remarkable as this", she reassured him, although it usually wasn't her way to confess such things.

He looked over her and by the sound of her words and the expression in her face he couldn't tell she lied.

"Please, Richard", she added and he nodded.

"Alright", he said and there was silence. A silence in which Emily hoped and prayed, he'd ask her out again, while Richard waited for her to encourage him to do so.

"I think I should go now", she finally gave up. "The others are waiting."

"Good night, Emily."

"Good night", she first bid him farewell, too, then plucked up her courage and transcended her proud once more. "It really was a lovely evening."

"Lovely enough to re-enact it next Monday?", he heard himself ask, although he actually had decided to let her stew in her own grease for a while. He had decided it and now -

"Yes", she looked at him and jolted him out of his thought. "Yes", she repeated beaming.

"Same time and place?"

"Yes", she nodded relieved, another irrational jump of her heart. "Same time and place."

To be continued.

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ATN: I don't know how to thank you anymore for these wonderful reviews or how to thank Mel for her great work as Beta, my vocabulary is knackered, so don't be mad if my next ATN will only contain two words: Thank you.

Just like the last one, this chapter is dedicated to someone special however as well, actually to two wonderful women: Caroline and Aurora. Here's to you.

Yep. Nods.

Lg, Franziska


	9. Russian Surnames And Arabian Nights

**Russian Surnames And Arabian Nights**

Emily never would've confessed it to anyone, but every morning she made a cross in an imaginary calendar, counting down the days until Monday. She even made up excuses for herself (the music, yes the music just had been marvellous. And the wine delicious. The atmosphere at Mory's and well, the music. She loved good music and the Whiffenpoofs sure knew how to sing and – despite all those Yale football songs - had a lovely repertoire) as this way of thinking and the nervous and yet happy anticipation that came with it, was something she hardly knew of herself. Actually, she hadn't looked forward to something with such eagerness since she had been a five-year-old child that still believed in Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas.

Hence, she did everything to take her mind off things. In the days, she forced Melinda to play tennis with her, to go swimming and shopping, to play scrabble and rearrange the furniture in their apartment. Most of the evenings, she went out with Robert. Five meetings with a man she maybe liked, but hardly knew, five pleasant days in summer were no reason to put her main project to sleep. That'd simply be unsolicitous trifling with fate.

Actually Emily hoped harder than ever that Robert would finally put their relationship onto the next level. The engagement level, for heaven's sake, he just had graduated and she would in a year. She needed a husband by then, because there was nothing for her to do or to be but a wife after her graduation (no matter how good her grades were, jumping onto the train of equality, working, was a thought that never crossed Emily's mind - even if: no matter how good her grades were, a bachelor in history of arts wasn't exactly an education that would help her to get a job) and moving back in with her parents would be more than a humiliation.

"Emily", Melinda sighed and folded her arms in protest. She was tired of all the rearranging and would've preferred it to enjoy the sun at one of the nearby lakes or even a trip to the beach, but Emily had made it clear that she wouldn't leave the flat until everything was in place. A new place. "The couch looks stupid back siding the door."

"Where would you know from?"

"We already moved it there twice today and every time you said it looks ridiculous."

"Well, let's try it again. Three times a charm", Emily demanded and the young women once again pushed the sofa through the room, putting it in front of the door. "You were right", she confessed, while she scrutinized the outcome with a wrinkled forehead. "It looks ridiculous. Like our living room is a waiting room. I never could enjoy sitting here again, because I'd always have the feeling that the doctor comes out every minute to inoculate me or take blood samples. And speaking of blood – a murderer would've easy play as well. If he's good and silent, we never would notice that he entered our apartment until we have the knife in our backs or a loop around our necks."

Melinda bristled with amusement. "So – back to the window side?", she suggested.

"Yes", she nodded. "The window side it is. It really looks perfect there."

"That's why we put the couch there when we first moved in", Melinda allowed herself to criticize.

"Are you trying to twit me, Sweetie?"

"I never would dare to", she clicked her tongue "And now let's simply move this stup –", Melinda was interrupted by the sound of their ringing phone. "I'll get it", she explained and headed towards the phone, which stood on the floor in the corner of the more than messy room. "McGee?"

"_Richard Gilmore"_, the voice on the other end answered and Melinda grinned. _"Can I talk to Emily Johnson, please?"_

"Emily?", she said, while her friend curiously raised her brows, her lips forming a silent _Who is it?_

"Yes, one second", Melinda handed her the phone.

"Who is it?", Emily asked once more, one of her hands covering the mouthpiece.

Still grinning, Melinda shrugged her shoulders and Emily sighed.

"Johnson", she answered the phone, sending her friend an annoyed look.

"_I'm bored."_

"Richard!?", she exclaimed surprised, positively surprised, which earned her an even bigger grin of Melinda and equivocally raised brows. "No need to look at me like that", Emily fizzled into her direction. "One second", she tweeted into the phone and manoeuvred herself, the phone and the unmanageable telephone cable into the bathroom, hastily closing the door behind her. "Where did you get my phone number from?", she eventually continued the call.

"_I'm a student at Yale."_

Emily rolled her eyes with amusement. "Who has to take summer classes", she couldn't resist teasing him.

"_I never should've told you."_

"I would've found out anyway."

"_How would you?"_

"I'm a student at Smith."

She heard him grin and had to smile herself. _"Draw",_ he said. _"So, what are we going to do?"_

"I'm not bored", she stated, which was true.

"_What are you doing?" _

"I am – Melinda and I were just talking about the classes we'll take next semester", she said, which was a lie, but moving furniture, all covered in dust and sweat wasn't exactly what she wanted him to picture her at.

"_There's still plenty of time until then." _

"The early bird catches the worm."

"_Is that another allusion to the fact that I'm taking summer classes?" _

"As a student of Yale, you should be able to interpret my words without any help."

"_Help me interpret them during dinner."_

"Dinner?", she asked.

"_As I said, I'm bored."_

"You shouldn't be bored, but studying."

"_You sound like my mother."_

"I –", Emily started, but closed her mouth again. "Why, thank you", she added with her voice under her breath.

"That was a compliment actually. There aren't many women I'd ever concede to be just as wonderful and special as my mother."

"This is the strangest compliment anyone ever made me."

"And the most ingenuous."

"You never told me that you're not only visiting Yale, but the local university for fortunetellers and mentalists as well."

"_That's another thing, we should discuss during dinner, don't you think?" _

"What makes you sure that I don't have plans already?"

"My crystal ball told me."

Emily laughed. "Did it?", she nevertheless answered as serious as possible.

"Yes. It told me as well that you should bring your bathing suit with you."

"My bathing suit?"

"I'll be picking you up around seven."

"Wait", she told him, once more unsure what to think of his brazenness and apparent overconfidence. "You can't just call and literally demand that we'll have dinner. That's simply uncourtly."

"I'll send you some flowers, they should compensate for my lack of courtliness."

"An impressing bouquet it should be, otherwise you don't have to wonder, if no one opens the door at seven."

"_Will you wear a nice dress, if I add an enormous box of Belgian chocolates?"_

"First of all, I'm not buyable, Richard. Second, I don't own any dresses that aren't _nice_."

"_Then wear the most French dress you have." _

"You're talking in foreign tongues."

"_Another thing we can discuss –"_

"- during dinner", she finished his sentence. "If I'm sure of anything about tonight, it's that we won't run out of subjects."

"I think we already proved that in the past."

"I wouldn't call you interrogating me on Monday a conversation."

"I'll see you tonight, Emily."

"At seven", she agreed with a smile and hang up. She had no idea why she had agreed to have dinner with him on such a short notice. Still, she underlined today's date in her imaginary calendar and was unable to suppress her happy smile when she re-entered the living room.

"Richard Gilmore", Melinda said, whether she was grinning again or she never had stopped and it annoyed Emily a lot. "I wonder why he called."

"He asked me out for dinner", she answered as uninvolved as possible.

"You declined of course."

"Of course I did not. I'd be impolite."

"Having dinner with an idiot just because of politeness, you're a martyr of Knigges messages."

"Having dinner with an idiot is better than staring at the walls of our apartment."

Melinda didn't say what she really thought, actually she kept her mouth closed and any comment by herself, while she helped Emily picking out a dress and doing her hair, just as she didn't utter a word when a delivery boy brought a beautiful bouquet of summer flowers and a box of chocolate, nor did she whisper a single syllable when she saw the dreamy look on Emily's face while she smelled at the flowers and nervously winced when the doorbell rang sharp seven. Sometimes, Melinda thought, it's better to keep your mouth shut. At least, she'd keep it shut until reason would be stronger than loyalty.

Richard knew that he actually should spend some more time over his books, if he wanted to succeed in graduating as one of the top ten of the year. After three days of studying, studying and some more studying he had cabin fever however and simply needed a change of scene. First he had planned on going to the Tomb or meeting some of his friends at Mory's or another bar, but although he didn't want to be alone, he wasn't in the mood for a big gathering, but longed for an intimate and twosome evening. Despite there were many women he could've called, women with whom he'd have some pleasant and physical distraction, of all the women he knew and without exactly knowing how or why, he suddenly had found himself phoning to Emily and talked her into a date and even ended up sending her flowers and chocolate (something Richard Gilmore rarely did, if they didn't attach a thank you note for the night and best wishes for the -separate- future).

However, the money for the chocolate was well invested, he thought when Emily opened the door, wearing an artful cut black dress that once again proved that she perfectly knew how to bring out her amenities without showing them off. The material was transparent at her arms and shoulders, at her décolleté and parts of her back, a dark mist which made more promises than naked skin ever could've and alongside the way the dress played around her legs it gave his mind some beautiful pictures of the apparently flawless body beneath it. Only looking at her, Richard felt, was worth the break of studying and even would make up, if she really would be the boring person he'd considered her to be after their first date. But she wasn't, he once more realized during the dinner in a French restaurant in Chicopee. Their phone call already had shown that he somehow had found the key that opened the door to the girl behind the curtains and hence their conversation was not only fluent, but interesting and pleasant as well, sending him from seriousness and reflectiveness to amusement and laughter and back without any sticking points.

"Another glass of wine?", he asked her when the waiter showed up between the crème brûlée and the cheese course and in between a discussion about the assets and drawbacks of Russian literature.

"Are you trying to make me drunk?", she leaned over to him, resting her chin on her entwined fingers, raising a brow with a sneering.

"God, no! After all I still have plans with you for tonight", he protested. "Besides, Dostojewsky and Tolstoi would be disappointed, if we don't have another glass while discussing their work."

"Alright", she agreed and took her glass after the waiter had refilled it. "To Fjodor and Leo."

"To Fjodor and Leo", he raised his glass too and both sipped at the Bordeaux. "So - where were we?"

"The Russian forenames", Emily reminded him with a smile, reminding herself to take it slow with the wine, it was her third glass and she already felt a little tipsy. "I never can keep track of those of the women. Anna Pawlowna, Anna Michailowana, Anna Whatever. Actually, I'm making myself lists, writing down all the different names every female and other character has, building up family trees and trees of all the other natures of relationships to do not loose the overview."

Richard laughed. "I do that too", he confessed nevertheless.

"You do?", she asked surprised, she always had thought she was the only one.

"Four sides for War and Peace."

"I needed nine."

"Tiny writing - in the transcription I made of my messy notes after I finished reading it", he explained with a wink.

Emily slightly shook her head. "A transcription."

"You're doing them too, don't you?"

"Two sides", she confessed with a laugh. "Very tiny writing."

"You have to show them to me, because it's beyond me how you were able to put it on two sides only."

"I will", she agreed. "And I assure you that I didn't forget a single name."

"To family trees", Richard raised his glass again. "Family trees and Russian surnames."

Despite and because he held her hand tight, Emily couldn't help to feel nervous, while Richard led her over a dark backyard and eventually tampered the lock of a cellar entry they had reached over some rusted metal steps with a piece of wire.

"What are you doing?", she whispered into the darkness.

"Opening a door."

"You can't just break into a house", she protested, asking herself why she hadn't protested against this earlier.

"I can", he grinned into the dark while there was a small click and the door swung open. "And it's worth the _crime_."

"Please, let's go", she begged him with growing panic, hastily looking around to check the property for other human beings. "Someone's going to see us."

"I've done this numerous times", he tried to calm her. He really came here very often in the nights, although he usually did it alone. Therefore, he hadn't been sure first, if he'd really should bring her to this place, his place, at least in the nights. His place in the nights, private somehow, private and intimate. Sure he had planned to go swimming with her, but the actual decision to go to the old clubhouse of Hartford had been spontaneous as the evening had gone well. Actually, he was sure that Emily would be able to see the beauty of it, to love it just as much as he did. "And I never got caught and do not intend to get caught tonight", he added.

"As if you could control that."

"That's part of the fun", he grinned.

"Illegal fun."

"You can't tell me this is the first time you do something that actually is forbidden but is fun?"

"It is", she hissed.

"What about drinking vodka and wine?", he alluded to her nonage.

"That's something different" she protested. "In Europe –"

"Ssshhh", he laid a finger on her lips, twitching back when he realized that it was quiet inopportune. But despite the touch didn't last longer than a second, it lasted long enough for Emily's stomach to pucker and for Richard to think that her lips felt how they looked like, warm and soft. "We should get in, if we don't want anyone to see us standing here like housebreakers", he joked to deflect.

"We are housebreakers", she answered, but Richard already had vanished inside. With a sigh and despite the fact that her reason told her to leave this place at once, she followed him, carefully closing the door behind her.

A whirring sound filled the room, when the old, torch shaped lamps on the windowless walls went on and lightened a scenario that kept Richard's promise. The floor and the walls, even the high ceiling were encased with tiles forming ornaments in all shades of green and turquoise, vigorous colours that were reflected by the water of a pool, turning it into the image of South Seas and the room into an exotic and mysterious place that seemed to arise out of Arabian Nights.

"This is beautiful", Emily aspirated reverential. "Beautiful and illegal", she added to do not appear too impressed.

His only answer was a light laugh and he removed his shoes and jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting undressed."

"Why?", she asked with a knot in her throat, she felt slightly dumb for having followed a man she hardly knew into a remote and deserted building, although Richard didn't give her the impression to be an indecent assaulter.

"Because my mother taught me to do not swim in my clothes", Richard stopped unbuttoning his shirt when he saw that she had taken some steps back. "I told you to bring your bathing suit, didn't I?"

"I thought you were joking", Emily confessed and hoped the dim light would hide her blushed cheeks.

"Well", he somehow helpless pointed at the pool. "I wasn't."

"Oh", was all that she was able to utter, closing her eyes for a second as she felt rather stupid and daffy.

"The pool is much too beautiful not to use it, don't you think?"

"Well, I – actually it is."

"So let's go skinny dipping."

"Skinny dipping?"

"You never swam naked?"

"Of course", she lied through her teeth and nodded energetically to do not only convince him, but herself as well. "But isn't it too cold for a swim?"

"It's still 80 degrees outside", he disagreed uncomprehending.

"But it's rather dewy in here."

"The water is warm. The club heats it during the days."

"Oh", she murmured and knew she had run out of excuses. "Alright, let's swim", Emily added therefore. She should've turned down the third glass of wine, she chastised herself while she heard her mouth saying the words - agreeing on skinny dipping. With a man. Unthinkable.

"Good", he smiled and continued to unbutton his shirt, laying it next to his jacket, just like his trouser and finally his pants, while Emily hardly tried to look anywhere but not at him.

The squirts of the water resounded in the hall, when Richard headed into it and the silent water surface undulated, sending small waves to the edges of the pool. He crawled to the other side of the basin and faced the wall in order to give Emily some privacy to get undressed. When she didn't join him after some minutes, he carefully glanced into her direction and saw that she was sitting on one of the marble benches, presenting him her already naked back, folding her dress just to unfold it again and start over. He watched her doing it for a while, a fond smile forming on his lips as he did. Then he silently swam back to her and got out of the water, grabbed his shirt and laid it over her shoulders while he resisted to peek over them.

Emily startled upon this unexpected touch and felt even more blood surging to her face.

"It's really quiet cold", he said before she had a chance to say anything.

"But it'll get wet", she answered silent and held his shirt closed, once more feeling stupid because she acted like a ten year old kidmonk.

"I have another one in my car trunk."

"Thank you", she nodded and got into the shirt, slowly closing button after button to win some more time and adjust to the new situation. After she was finished she got up, Richard's shirt ranged almost to her knees and the soft material felt good on her naked skin, which helped her slowly to get rid of the uneasiness. Hence she followed him into the water, feeling how the fabric sucked up the water and adhered to her body as she swam towards his direction.

"How many women have your brought here before me?", she couldn't refrain from asking, when she reached him at the edge of the basin.

"You're the first one."

"Sure", she snorted amused.

"You are", he confirmed honestly. "Usually I come here alone, especially when I need time to think. I like the calmness, the colours and the aura of this place, it's like a trip into another world."

"Why did you bring me here then?"

"Because I felt you would like it."

"So would every other woman, it's the perfect place to impress any woman."

"I don't want to impress you, Emily. I only needed a break from my books, but the prospects of a crowded bar didn't thrill me, while the idea of having a beautiful dinner and going here did. Yet, I didn't want to be alone, but a pleasant company", he smiled. "Besides, I needed to move, I'm totally rusty from all the sitting and studying", he pushed off the edge and silently both did some laps, eventually splattering each other with water and starting to toss around, tussling while they tried to do not get squeezed under water from the other one.

After a while they ended up at the edge again, his body pressed against hers and his hand clutched around her wrists, both exhausted of the playful fighting and laughter. "I give up. You win", Emily explained with heavy breath.

"Good", he smiled and let her wrists go, folding his fingers into hers instead. Her face was close to his and he could feel her warm breath on his skin, her skin on his and as she didn't turn away, when he pressed his forehead against hers, he knew she wouldn't resist when he'd try to kiss her now. Hence, he slowly brought a hand to her face and caressed her cheek, giving himself time as he enjoyed the racing heart and pulse, this special, almost magical expectation that unfolded before a first kiss.

The magic before a first kiss, he only had felt it once strong like this.

Years ago, it had been awfully cold, still he and Pennilyn stood for an eternity in front of her parents house and had talked about negligibility's until he finally brought up the courage to kiss her. Something was wrong, he finally realized. Actually he already had felt it when he had put his shirt over Emily's shoulders and had to repress the temptation to put his arms around her waist and put his head between her scapulas. Something was wrong, totally wrong. Nobody but Pennilyn was supposed to create this feeling. Nobody but she was supposed to be more than dating material.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: I'm really sorry for the delay, but there was this and that and that and this and well, I'm not going to bore you with real life. Here's an update finally and I hope you think it was worth the wait. 

Oh – and just as announced in my last ATN: Thank you :) ;)

Enjoy!


	10. Only Lightheads

**Only Lightheads**

The feeling of Richard's fingers on her cheek, the way he caressed it alongside his warm breath on her skin, send a warm shiver through Emily, dozens of them, over and over again, and without prompting it, she felt how her body moved closer to his. Every part of her prickled with excitement, waiting for him to finally lay his lips on hers and despite she enjoyed this unknown and new feeling, it scared her at the same time that she apparently was loosing control over her acting and thinking, but everything was buried by a thick and warm mist.

"I'm sorry", Emily suddenly heard Richard whisper and he let her go, throwing her back to reality.

"What…", she murmured confused and water entered her mouth and caused her to cough, while she hastily reached for the edge of the basin to do not sink as his body wasn't carrying hers over the surface anymore. After she had adjusted, she turned around, but only to realize that Richard was gone. With a whiff of panic she swam to the other end of the pool and left it. His clothes were still there, Emily realized relieved, her heart still beating wildly, not of excitement anymore, but anger.

"Here", he reappeared after some seconds, a towel wrapped around his waist and handed her another one.

"Thank you", was all Emily was able to utter, taking it without looking into his eyes.

"Take as much time as you need," he took his clothes, the coldness in his voice confused and angered her even more. "I'll be waiting in the car for you."

Just to annoy him Emily would've taken herself lots of time, but when she risked a look into her pocket mirror after she had dressed, she realized that she probably would need an eternity to look at least a little acceptable again. The towel had smudged her make-up while she had dried her face and her former artfully arranged hair looked like a mess. With a sigh she submerged an end of the towel into the water and removed the remainings of her make-up, redoing it with extraordinary diligence. Afterwards she picked the numerous hairpins out of her wet hair and dried it as good as it was possible without hairdryer but an already damp towel only. Eventually Emily combed it provisional with her fingers and tied it up to a loose ponytail. "As good as it can get", she mumbled unhappy when she checked the final outcome in the mirror and put it into her purse again, grabbed Richards's wet shirt and the towel and finally headed outside after almost forty minutes.

The drive back to Smith was a silent one, only accompanied by the low sounds of a symphony that was played in radio. Dramatic, Emily thought caustically while staring at the passing landscape outside, even Douglas Sirk couldn't have staged it better. The only thing missing was a lost doe running into the car, his life saved by Richard, who had no idea that the innocent little thing would canker him with rabies while he did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The picture caused Emily to laugh, quietly first, but when she felt Richard's confused look resting on her, she wasn't able to pull herself together anymore.

"What…?", he asked her and Emily managed it to utter a giggled "I'm sorry" as her efforts to stop laughing made it even worse and she eventually felt tears running down her cheeks. "It's just –", she added after a while with another burst. "Could you just change the station, please?"

"What's so funny about Bach?", Richard asked her, obviously offended, still doing what she had asked him to.

"Nothing", she answered after she had been able to win back her countenance some seconds and tones of Sweet Dreams by Patsy Cline later. "She just died in a plane crash", Emily concentrated on something different, wiping the tears out of her face.

"I can't tell that I'm engaged in country music", he said after a short reluctance. It was no use to start a conversation; every word seemed to be too much. Every word was a risk that she'd wrap him up again and he'd possibly fall seriously in love with her. Something he simply couldn't do. He couldn't do that to Pennilyn.

"You must've read it in the papers. It was a big headline."

"Not in the Financial Times."

Emily nodded briefly and looked out of the window again. She was the last one to force him to have a conversation, actually she wasn't eager to talk about something else but the occurrence in the pool and she hardly could ask him why he hadn't kissed her. Manners forbid that, her sense of shame and pride did it and hence the radio and the engine became the only source of sounds in the car again until they were back at her apartment.

All gentleman, Richard helped her out of the car and escorted her to the door. Emily would've given a fortune for his thoughts and when all he did while taking his leave, not even a kiss on the hand or a thank you for the nice evening, was saying "Goodbye", she wasn't able to put a bridle on her tongue anymore.

"Why did you say you're sorry?", she cat-called at him and he stopped.

"I beg your pardon?", he turned around.

"Why did you say you're sorry?", Emily recurred with held breath.

"Because I was sorry", feeling uncomfortable, Richard shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry, Emily, good night", he bid her farewell and turned around again.

"You can't just say good night and walk away in the middle of a conversation!", she stated angry. "Richard!", she almost shouted. "Richard, please!"

When he even didn't take the effort to slow down his steps or look over his shoulders, she blasted and before she could stop herself, she wheezed an "Oh!" and her purse flew through the night air, hit his back unerringly and fell onto the floor while Richard eventually stopped and faced her again.

"What the –", he exclaimed flabbergasted and first looked at her then at her purse and its contents, which were stud on the ground. "You could've hurt me seriously!"

"It's a purse, not an anvil", she hissed to cover shame and shock and walked towards him, kneeling down and starting to collect her belongings.

"Emily", he said calmly and got down to help her, handing her a lipstick.

"I don't need your help", she took it surly and chucked it into her purse. "Weren't you just about to leave anyways?"

"You see", he tried to explain helplessly, handing her another lipstick with whom she recurred the chucking. "That's why I'm sorry. I obviously gave you a wrong impression."

"What kind of impression would that be?", she rather asked the powder tin in her hand than him.

"That I'm having a serious interest", he explained, trying to lend as much credence to his words as possible. Even if it meant hurting her, he had no alternative but to make a hard and fast cut.

Emily frowned. "This was a date, Richard", she stated without stopping to collect her belongings of the ground. "You don't date someone, if you don't have serious intentions. Dating is a serious business."

"I'm sorry, if it appealed like a date to you."

"What else should it have been, good Lord?", for the first time she looked at him. "You called me and asked me out for dinner. You sent me flowers and chocolate and the last time I checked the specification for this was **_date_**."

"I just wanted to have a nice evening, Emily, some distraction."

"I hope you had your fun."

Richard closed his eyes for a second. "If I had known that your feelings are of a romantic –", he told her, knowing that he was risking his neck with his words, every sympathy she might have for him for good.

Emily interrupted him. "This is not about my feelings", she denied and grabbed her keys, clutching them tight. "And I assure you that they couldn't be further from romantic."

"What is it about then?", he asked her surprised.

"About principles", Emily closed her purse energetically. "You simply don't date someone twice or even more often, if you don't have serious intentions."

"But as you're apparently not having any kind of romantic feeling for me", he was unable to held his thought back. "Why did you date me a second and a third time then?"

"Dating isn't about romantic feelings either", she got up and gave him a proud and barred look.

"That's all what it is about", he disagreed and jumped up, too.

"Romance is short-lived, Richard. Which person would want to build up its future on something perishable and unseizable? Only a lightheaded would do that and I'm most certainly not. And now excuse me please, my hair needs a decent wash, if I don't want to ruin it enduring, not to talk of the fact that I smell like a pool boy."

"You can't tell me, it doesn't matter to you who you're going to spend the rest of your life with", he exclaimed surprised, unsuccessfully searching her face for signs of lying.

"Of course it matters that he has good breeding and reputation, that he'll care for me and our family. But if it is you or Robert, Victor or drop-a-name, it doesn't make the slightest difference to me, believe me."

"I never would've thought that you're such a cold and calculating person", he said low.

"Maybe you should've taken a closer look into your crystal ball then, Richard", she answered coldly and left him standing.

Emily closed the door behind her and pressed her forehead against the cold wood, inhaling deeply for a few times while she tried to win control over her shaking hands and weak knees again and to ignore the burning and prickling on her palatine, the knot in her throat.

"Emily?", Melinda's voice sounded and she startled.

"Hey Sweetie", she chirped and put on a smile. "How was your evening?"

"What happened?", she ignored Emily's question and eyeballed her worried from bottom to top, not only noticing her deranged and wet hair, but a suspicious glittering in her eyes as well.

"Well, we had dinner."

"In an underwater restaurant?"

"Melinda", Emily pouted. "Will you just –"

"Alright", she agreed, guessing the only way to find out at least a grain, was granting Emily her own way. "But sit down first, I'll get us a drink", she called on her nevertheless.

Despite Emily wasn't in the mood to sit down and have a drink, well, a drink maybe, in the bathtub however, she did how she was told.

"So?", Melinda encouraged her to go on and handed her a glass of gin tonic.

"So we had dinner", she continued and nipped at the drink. "In a French restaurant in Chicopee. And it went well. Very well. I don't think, I ever –", she stopped and hastily took another sip. "Whatever", she laughed nervously. "In the end it didn't go well anymore and that's it."

"That's it?"

"Yes", Emily nodded. "That's it. Case Richard Gilmore closed."

"Emily", Melinda laid a hand on hers. "Maybe he just –"

"No. There's no just. No just", she said and the way she did made it unmistakable that she wouldn't say more. "Don't be mad, Sweetie, but I desperately need a hot bath", she got up.

Melinda nodded. "I'm in my room."

"Thank you", Emily answered and managed it to smile a weak but real smile at last.

The warm water felt good, it was good to get rid of the smell of the pool water, the smell his shirt had left on her skin, the smells of the evening - still it didn't make her feel better. Although Emily was alone now, she didn't allow herself to give in the need to cry however. It wouldn't change a thing after all. Besides, she had no idea why she felt the way she did and she always had hated it to do things without a tangible reason.

Robert Tadman beamed like a child on Christmas Eve and Emily couldn't help to smile as well upon his excitement, although she still had no idea where their trip was going to. But he looked happy, therefore she was happy, too. She was happy about his happiness as it salved her bad conscience, a bad conscience she had since the last evening with Richard. Ridiculous, she felt, as nothing had happened and the whole Richard issue history anyway. Hence the unfounded remorse annoyed her a lot - though not as much as the fact that she couldn't stop agonising over last night.

"Here we are", Robert announced with a bright grin, while he parked the car in a parking lot in the business district of Albany.

"May I ask what we're doing here?", grateful for the distraction, Emily curiously looked around. "This area of Albany isn't exactly known for its wide range of leisure facilities. I even doubt that there's a restaurant or café within a radius of a mile and I can't tell I worship canteen food."

"Did you ever eat in a canteen?"

"No", she confessed with a smile. "Still I heard enough of it to know that I don't want to find out the truth - and end this beautiful day by being admitted to hospital with salmonella poisoning due to old fish, stale eggs and lumpy pudding cooked with sour milk."

Robert laughed, not only because of her adroit response, but her openness proved once more that their relationship had entered a serious, even intimate base, which eased him and would make it easier to go ahead with his plans for the day - and further. "I reassure you that our day's schedule does not include a single meeting with canteens and salmonellas."

"Good", she nodded, raised a brow and gave him an intense look. "What are we doing here then?", she tried to find out once more.

"Patience, darling, patience", Robert jumped out of the car and hurried around it to open Emily the door.

"Thank you", she took the hand he reached her and got out of the car as well. After he had locked the doors of his Mustang, Robert offered Emily his arm and led her into a side street, finally stopping in front of an imposing building that was graced with huge ormolu letters forming the words _Johnson Trade Inc_.

"Robert?", she murmured puzzled. "Would you finally tell me the reason for this trip, please?"

"Not yet", he stated and Emily couldn't help to feel slightly uncomfortable while they entered the building. She never had been here nor did she have a clue what she was supposed to do here. After all she had nothing to do with the family business. Despite her confusion, she didn't say a thing, but left it to Robert to enlighten her – which he did as soon as they entered a quiet impressing corner office.

"Now you may ask me again, what we're doing here."

"Alright", she almost had force herself to smile. "What are we doing here?"

"We're inspecting my future office. Well, I know it already, but I thought you might want to know where I'm going to work."

"You're going to work here?"

"A quiet impressing office for a starter, isn't it?"

"I'm not talking about the office, Robert. I'm talking about the company. You never even told me you made an application for it."

Robert shrugged his shoulders and his grin grew even bigger, revealing the proud and contentment he felt. "I didn't. They got in touch with me some days ago and I simply couldn't knock back their offer. It's better than anything I've hoped for", he took her hands. "And as I won't start until Monday in two weeks, I thought we'll use the time to drive to Boston and visit my parents. I told them so much about you already and they're just dying to meet you."

Emily opened her mouth just to close it again as she was unable to utter a word.

"I know, this is fast", Robert continued nervous. "You must be taken by surprise, I know that as well - after all we haven't had a serious talk about this yet. But our relationship became very close during the last months and I don't see why we shouldn't take the next step", he paused, feeling his heart in his boots. "But I won't blame you, if you need time to think about it first and I-"

"No", she interrupted him hastily. "I'd love to meet your parents. I really would, Robert. I was just very surprised. Positively surprised. Very positive."

"You are?", he asked charily.

"Yes", she stated and laid a hand on his check, kissing him softly to underline her words. "Of course", she added, realizing appalled that she wasn't only trying to convince him but herself as well, although she had been waiting for this moment desperately. Therefore she murmured another "Of course" and kissed Robert again, kissed him with the highest level of passion she ever had allowed him to go to. Yet, there was no mist.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: Thanks for the great reviews – I'm really glad you didn't lose interest in the story, although there was no update for so long. Moreover, I hope you like this chapter as well, although you might not like the fact that there was no you-know-what ;)  
Special thanks to Mel for being such a patient Beta! 


	11. Mother Says So

**Mother Says So**

Richard was dead tired, because he hadn't slept much that night. The happenings of the previous evening kept him awake, Emily's inscrutable behaviour in the end and her words. She had sounded so serious, still he found it hard to believe. It was impossible that she just had played all those beautiful smiles and the stealthy but intense looks she had given him. It was impossible that she had thrown her purse after him just out of expedience. It was impossible that she hadn't felt the same things in the pool. Acting never could create such a tension, it simply couldn't. Yet, her words, the way she had said them – it was impossible that someone could act the seriousness and conviction which had laid in them, in her face and eyes. She was a mystery, one he longed to solve, one he longed to forget.

Actually it annoyed him that she was still haunting his mind, there were more important things to do and to think about than Emily Johnson. Moreover, he had wanted to end the whole affair and should be glad she had helped him to end it so easily. Thanks to her reaction, he even didn't need to have a bad conscience. He had gotten off lightly and by a whisker and should be thoroughly grateful that no one and nothing had been harmed, but the only damage were some scratches on the cover of her powder box - and his pride.

His pride. Probably it was the reason for the sleepless night. Richard still analyzed the last evening while he was on his way to his parents house for Friday night dinner. He had thought she was about to fall in love with him too, but apparently she wasn't. Apparently the attraction had been a one-sided thing. Probably, he thought and yawned while he drove onto the gateway of the elder Gilmore's mansion, it's only your tiredness that makes you so soft and not Emily.

Richard really had no idea how he had managed to drive here without falling asleep over the steering wheel or how to survive the usual five-course menu his mother always had served on Friday evenings. His tiredness vanished at a blow however, when he saw who the guest was, his mother had announced in a passing remark during their last phone call.

"Pennilyn", he exclaimed happy and she raised a brow with a bright and beautiful smile.

"Hello Richard", she greeted him.

"You could've told me that Pennilyn was here", Richard turned to his mother.

Lorelai smiled satisfied. "I told you that we would have an important guest."

"You only told me that there'll be a guest, not a single syllable about how important he – she is", Richard replied with played disfavour.

"The crux of surprises is to do not tell the one supposed to be surprised too much, Richard. Otherwise he wouldn't be surprised."

"As I'm more than surprised, you did a great job, Trix", he said and addressed Pennilyn again. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect you to be home until my graduation."

"I thought you could need a little backup", she replied with her most winning smile.

"Besides, there are so many things to plan for your graduation party and I thought Pennilyn would want to assist me. After all it's an important day", Lorelai added with a wink.

"Yes", Richard agreed and finally walked to Pennilyn, first kissing her hand, then placing soft kisses onto her cheeks, denying himself a kiss onto her lips in the presence of his mother. "You look fabulous."

She beamed happily upon his compliment and the joy of being reunited. "Thank you, darling."

"I'll leave you young people alone, now. I assume you have some important things to discuss", Lorelai said with a smile and Richard was a little irritated by the third use of the word important within two minutes. "Dinner will be served in twenty minutes."

"It's so good to see you", Richard told Pennilyn as soon as his mother was gone, sat down next to her and took her hands. "I missed you."

"I missed you too", she agreed, leaned over and finally granted Richard a proper kiss hello. "Aren't we supposed to discuss important things?", Pennilyn whispered in between two kisses as he made no efforts to take his lips of hers.

"This is important", he smiled and stroke her cheek, stealing himself another passionate kiss before he finally broke away. "How long will you stay?"

"University will start by the end of September again, so I guess I'll be flying back around the 20th."

"You guess?", although he had agreed on a talk, he started to place tender kisses onto her face and lips, after all he hadn't seen her for months and real kisses tasted way better then a written "_kiss" _in a letter or whispered "_I kiss you"'s _in a rustling oversea phone call.

"No flight booked, yet", she murmured distracted by the sensations his touches send through her body.

"Why?", he asked, his full attention still concentrated on the kissing.

Pennilyn took his face into her hands, gently rubbing over his check bones with her thumbs. "You never know", she stated and smiled unsearchable. "After all this will be my last year in college and your first year in the business world."

"My first year", Richard repeated bewildered, while his brain slowly started to add two and two. Important guest. Important day. Important things. Unbooked flights and last years. It looked like his mother and girl had an exact agenda and although it had been is plan as well, the sudden rushing took him by surprise.

Busy with packing for her trip to Boston, Emily bustled around in her room, when Melinda knocked at her door and came in.

"May I?", she pointed at the bed.

Emily nodded absent-minded, while she tried to decide whether to take her black bathing suit or the black one with the white dots, eventually she put them both into her suitcase, adding the fitting skirts and hair-bands. "I need another suitcase", she sighed as the one on the bed was already full.

"You can borrow mine."

"I have other suitcases", she started to unpack the suit case again.

Melinda giggled amused. "Then take one of them", she suggested the obvious.

"I don't want to travel with too much luggage. It could make a wrong impression on Robert and his parents."

"Then take one bathing suit only."

"I need both. In case his parents are around, I'll wear the one with the dots. It's proper and nice and says _Hello, I'm the perfect daughter-in-law_. In case Robert wants to go swimming with me alone, the black is perfect as it says _Hello, marry me and you won't regret it_."

"You've talking bathing suits? Now, that's something."

"Why don't you just help me instead of making oh-so-funny remarks?"

"I'd love to help you, Benjamin will be here any second, however."

"Benjamin", Emily walked to her closet. "You're seeing him quiet often these days, aren't you?"

"Why should you be the only one, getting engaged?"

Emily turned around, a surprised and happy grin on her lips. "Melinda! Why haven't you told me?"

"I just did", Melinda shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, it's nothing official, yet."

"Oh."

"Don't "Oh" me, Emily. He's the right one, I can tell", she started to fold one of the dresses on the bed.

"You said that of Steven and Carl, too", she stated cautious. "And -"

"Zachary, Russell and Sebastian", Melinda finished the sentence. "Still - this time it's completely different. Benjamin is the right one, I simply know that. And I'm the right one for him. We're perfect for each other."

"Where would you know of, Sweetie?", she sighed, it was always the same with Melinda.

"I'm in love."

"You've been in love with Steven, Carl, Zachary -"

"Russell and Sebastian as well", she once again finished the list herself. "I've been in love with them, yes. But it's more with Benjamin, he understands me like no one else does. With him it's more than just weak knees and wet palms. When I'm with him everything else is just so tiny, there's only us and -", the doorbell rang, "- everything else vanishes", Melinda happily went on while she headed towards the door. "It vanishes and there's just us in this warm and wonderful mist of love", she smoothed her dress and opened the door. "You're on time, I'm really im-", she stated but stopped flabbergasted as it wasn't Benjamin, who stood in the door.

"Good Morning", an elegant woman greeted her. She was probably in her late 30s, maximum her early 40s and her clothes much too genteel for the early time and place. Actually, Melinda thought, she looked like a visitor of the British Colonies, an influential and distinguished mistress in India, Zanzibar or Ceylon during the turn of the century.

"Good Morning, Madam", she said and quelled the absurd impulse to curtsy.

"You must be Melinda McGee", the woman examined her from bottom to top.

"Yes, Madam."

"Mother!", Emily exclaimed surprised just at the same time.

"Emily", Lillian nodded gracefully and removed her gloves. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Of course", Emily hastily nodded and Lillian Johnson entered the apartment. "How are you, Emily?"

"I'm fine, thank you", she nervously looked around, if she had known that her mother would come, she would've told the charwoman to come this morning and spruce the apartment up and the florist to send some bouquets - and she most certainly wouldn't be wearing her Capri trousers, but a decent dress - trousers, today of all the days. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, too, thank you", Lillian answered and there was a brief pause. "Your father is doing well, as is Henrietta", she eventually added.

"That's wonderful", Emily responded. "May I ask, what procured me the honour of your visit?"

"We've some important things to discuss before you leave", Lillian smiled encouraging at Emily. "Family matters", she looked at Melinda.

"Oh", Melinda murmured with played surprise and shock. "Of course. My boyfriend will pick me up any minute anyways, I'll just wait outside for him and enjoy the lovely weather", she offered and took her purse and keys of the commode, despite she would've loved to witness the talk between Emily and her mother. "Good Bye, Mrs. Johnson", she found herself dropping a curtsey and secretly rolled her eyes about it, feeling Emily's confused look resting on her. "Bye, Em", Melinda hence added slovenly to cope with the punctiliousness and vanished outside.

"Em? That sounds like a harrumph", Lillian raised a brow to disapprove. "You should tell that girl to not disfigure your beautiful name with fishy abbreviations."

"I will, Mother."

"Well", Lillian sighed and sat onto the sofa. "Let's go back to the actual reason for my visit, shall we?"

"Yes", Emily nodded. "But let me offer you something to drink first. An ice-tea with lemon, maybe?"

"I'm not thirsty, thank you", she declined. "But get yourself one, in case you should be."

"I'm not thirsty either", Emily sat down, too.

"From our last phone-call I can gather that Robert eventually made the last necessary step towards an engagement and marriage", Lillian smiled proudly and patted Emily's knee. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you'll finally reach the port of marriage. So is your father of course. We're both very happy for you, Emily."

"Tell father my thank you", she answered, although she knew that Baldwin Johnson probably had no idea of the latest development. He never had, but it didn't keep Lillian from talking in the first person plural. "I'm happy, too", she added.

"You should be", she responded and got up again. "Which one is your room?"

"This one", Emily jumped up, pointed at her door and Lillian vanished inside, curiously looking at the suitcase.

"You're not intending to wear this dress, are you?", Lillian took a robe out of it.

"Of course not, mother."

"Good", she said, hang it back into the wardrobe. "And please stop going with the ridiculous fad to wear trousers. You're not a till girl after all, although it's beyond me why any woman would want to wear trousers", she searched the dresses in the wardrobe. "Oh yes, you've to take this one with you", she picked out the dress Emily had been wearing on her date with Richard two days ago. "I gave it to you for a special occasion after all. And if your long anticipated engagement isn't a special occasion, nothing else is."

"I already wore this dress on a date with Robert", Emily lied and took it hastily. "Moreover, he hasn't proposed yet and I don't want you to cheer upon my engagement before he puts a ring on my finger."

"He invited you to meet his parents, the proposal is only a formality."

"I hope so."

"Of course it is, don't you doubt that, Emily. He'd be a fool, if he'd set a nought to a marriage with you. With all the breeding and money you have and with the job your uncle Carl offered him, he'd be more than a fool."

Emily bit her lower lip and tried to smile. "Uncle Carl offered him the job, because of me?", she asked what she already had suspected.

"Of course, he did", Lillian shook her head upon her daughter's naivety. "Which is the actual reason for my visit."

"The job?"

"Your uncle", she disagreed. "He might want to have a word with you as soon as you're back."

"Might want?"

"As far as I remember, I taught you to talk in complete sentences, Emily", Lillian criticized her daughters shortness of words. "But yes, he might want to talk to you, although he could decide to talk to Robert, too. After all Robert is supposed to lead the family business as trustee after Carl's death and until the actual inheritor will come of age. Robert _or_ Henrietta's future husband, it depends all on the fact which of you will give birth to a son and legitimate inheritor first", Lillian stopped when she noticed the harried look on Emily's face. "You see", she said soft-gloved. "That's why I wanted to talk to you about these issues before your uncle Carl has a chance to. You're still much too naïve, if it comes to such things. Heaven knows, you've that from your father."

"I understand that neither Henrietta nor I will be able to inherit the business, but Carl needs a male inheritor", Emily tried to cover up. "Yet, there's always the possibility that none of us will have a son."

Her daughter's fast perception surprised Lillian positively. "That's why I precautionary arranged a long time ago that your father and I've the feathers in our nest and no one will be able to touch the share of the inheritance you and Henrietta are supposed to get from us and my family line. However, this is not about money only, Emily, but essentially about loyalty, sense of family, pride and honour. The family business might not fall into the wrong hands and the Willem Verplanck-Visser line, those weak and spineless narcissists are by far not entitled to get it. A circumstance you should always remember and prevent from happening."

Emily managed it to create a nod. "I will, mother", she promised faithfully.

"You have to, Emily", Lillian beseeched. "As I'm seriously worried about Henrietta and her preferences. Your sister has changed a lot during the last months and I'm afraid she adapted more than just the idea to wear trousers of those modern views."

The talk with her mother filled Emily with pride as Lillian Johnson had treated her like a grown-up for the first time in her life. Therefore, she put all efforts into making her mother proud as well and to be able to inform her of her engagement as soon as possible. Actually, Emily was sure that Robert would propose within the next days as she could tell that his parents liked her and she liked them, too. The Tadman's were nice people, very nice, just like Robert was very nice and she was sure life in this family, as a member of this family, would be a good life. Still, she couldn't help to think of Richard and Melinda's remark about love and mists every now and then, quickly forcing herself to think of something else whenever she found herself doing it.

Richard Gilmore did the same whenever he thought of Emily. But as he was preoccupied with his studies and very happy to have Pennilyn back, it was rather easy for him to do not think of her. Therefore, Emily even didn't cross his mind at the day of his graduation and while he proposed to Pennilyn Lott in front of his family and friends and put a beautiful emerald ring onto the finger of the beaming bride-to-be, an old family heirloom that once had graced his mother's, grand and greatgrandmother's hands, just like it would shimmer on the fingers of Pennilyn's and his offsprings one day.

To be continued

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ATN: Once again thanks a lot for your reviews, I really appreciate and loooooove them. Love my Beta, too, you're great! 


	12. Variations

**Variations **

There was still thaw on the grass and a flimsy mist surrounded the garden, the dense and green hedge, the rose bushes and laburnum, but the air was already warm and a wonderful smell of summer lay in the air. It was early, not even six o' clock and there wasn't a sound on the property of the Tadman's but the light twitter of some early birds and the soft splashing of water while Emily Johnson did silent and leisurely laps in the pool like she did every morning. Since she was always surrounded by people during the days and evenings and too tired to do anything but sleep when she finally was in the guestroom again, she enjoyed these private moments and being alone for once, dwelling on thoughts and daydreaming, even if it meant to get up at an ungodly hour.

The decent smell of chlorine the pool water gave off, conjured memories and while she eventually stopped at the edge of the basin, Emily closed her eyes and leaned her head back, allowing herself to go back in time and imagine the feeling of Richard's touches on her skin. The memory recreated the warmth and comfort she had felt in the old clubhouse and caused her to long for a real recreation if only for another brief moment. Another brief moment with him, even if he didn't touch her, any other moment would do. The more time passed since their last meeting, the more often she caught herself thinking of him, even missing him. She really missed him, a man who had told her twice that he had no serious interest in her and hence was history, concluded and beyond reach. Still, she couldn't help it. She tried, but it didn't work out. Emily felt like Sisyphus, the harder she tried, the less was the success, making her feel helpless and stupid, all alone. Nevertheless, her mind went further, the Richard in it did, he placed a soft kiss onto her lips and real shivers of excitement ran through her body. Enough for today, Emily forced herself to open her eyes again and stop it, unhappy with herself and her mental games. Enough, she thought and pushed off the edging, concentrating on the movement of her arms and legs while she did some more laps.

Robert Tadman had watched Emily for a while before he finally attracted her attention to himself. "Good morning", he greeted her and she swam towards him and got out of the pool, presenting him her marvellous body as she did.

"Good Morning", she smiled and Robert couldn't resist to lay his arms around her waist and pull her wet body to his.

To his surprise, she didn't protest, when he started to kiss her deeply, not even when one of his hands searched its way to her bottom, the other one to her breast. Encouraged, he directed Emily to one of the deck chairs and positioned himself over her without taking his lips and hands of her, eagerly continuing the exploration of her body, happy that she had given up her reluctance in the last days and finally allowed him to touch her this way.

It was odd, Emily thought while she adjusted herself beneath him, but Robert's covetousness flattered her somehow. He coveted her and she even wasn't wearing her black bathing suit, but the one with the white dots. Emily wondered if it even mattered what a woman was wearing or if men only imagined what was under the clothes, without even noticing the efforts that had been put into the choice of clothing. The thought engaged her for a while, when Robert's touches slowly got racy and the grasp on her breast tightened, his thumb caressing over it through the material of her suit. It hardly had an effect on her and once again it leaped to her mind that men simply were overestimating this part of the female body. Why on earth were they so attracted by breasts anyways? She had read some articles on it, most of them featuring the rather prominent theory that a lack or an excessive nursing attitude on the part of the mother was the reason. It sounded reasonable, but then she hadn't been nursed either and she couldn't tell that she had a thing for breasts. Of course she was a woman, yet she couldn't imagine that being nursed or not had a different effect on the genders. Hence, there must've been another reason and as she hardly could ask Robert for it, she probably would never find out until some scientist would publish a reliable article on this subject. Actually, since this male fondness, his fondness, didn't displease her, she finished the thought, it didn't matter why and as long as Robert respected the limits she had set up, she was fine with it. But when he made no attempts to let her go, Emily couldn't help to get a little flustered after a while. She had to get back into the pool soon, if she wanted to finish her morning exercise of swimming a mile and shower and dress unhurriedly before breakfast.

"Robert", slightly out of breath, she broke the long kiss after she had decided what to wear today (The choice fell on a red cotton ensemble whose colour harmonized perfectly with the simple ruby and diamond earrings her mother had given her before her departure and her new pair of ballerinas). "As much as enjoy this, I have to finish my laps."

He put a kiss on her neck. "What for?", he mumbled onto he skin.

"To keep my body in shape", she replied quite uncomprehending and Robert grinned enamoured.

"It's perfect the way it is."

"Because I train it", she stated. "Otherwise, I'd look like a yeast dumpling within some days, believe me. Especially with the wonderful food your mother is serving."

"Alright", Robert agreed and, satisfied for now, removed his hands from her body. "Let's do some laps", he got up and pulled her with him. "If I had known you are swimming in the mornings I would've accompanied you earlier."

"What a lovely idea", she stated with a fake smile, seeing the lonely morning hours vanish into thin air. Maybe, she tried to convince herself, it was better that way anyhow. Not only enough for today, enough for good.

The hot summer days, filled with shared morning swims, trips to Boston, tea and cocktail parties, hours at the beach and on the tennis court, went by and the visit at the Tadman's eventually drew to a close. Although Robert hadn't told her, Emily knew that he planned to propose at the farewell party, because his mother let slip out insinuations every now and then. That's it, she thought, in three days you'll finally be engaged. Mrs. Tadman. Mrs. Emily Tadman. It didn't sound too bad. Especially the _Mrs._ sounded great. One year from now on, she would be one: a married woman. In two years, she even might be a mother. Elisabeth for a girl, maybe Victoria or Charlotte (she loved the idea of naming a daughter like a princess, a queen. It seemed to be a good omen) and - of course - Baldwin for a boy. Baldwin Tadman. It sounded nice, too. Fortunately the name Tadman went well with almost every name. Elisabeth and Baldwin. A daughter and a son. Maybe, she could've another girl, having a sister was something she relied on. Elisabeth and Charlotte. The picture of two beautiful girls in silk dresses made her smile and soon it hopefully wouldn't be a picture only, but reality. Reality. Yes, Emily finally had achieved her aim; there was nothing left to worry about.

Robert Tadman felt the same way. He and Emily were the perfect match. He knew that. Moreover everybody told him. Marital life with her would be smooth and pleasant. He was lucky enough to have found and fallen in love with a girl who wasn't only capable, but beautiful and gentle as well. Yes, Emily was the perfect partner for him and when they were strolling through his parents' garden after tea, Robert couldn't suppress the want to tell her, although he originally had intended to wait until his proposal.

"Emily", he stopped and turned her towards him, carefully caressing her check.

"What?", she questioningly raised a brow with a smile as he didn't say a further thing.

"You're beautiful", he bowed down and kissed her softly. "So beautiful, Emily."

"Thank you", she murmured, trying to ignore the sudden lump in her throat.

Robert laughed lightly upon her properness and shyness. "God, I love you, Emily", he stated raptured and buried his head in her hair, enjoying her closeness, while something in Emily convulsed and she held her breath. She didn't know what to do now - what he expected her to do, what to reply. An agreement was probably expected, however she even was unable to enjoy the fact of having heard those words for the first time ever.

"Robert", she heard herself say low after an eternity and he looked at her, confusion reflecting in his face. "I can't do that", she continued, unable to control the words that left her mouth, despite she knew she would regret it. Actually Emily regretted them the moment she uttered them. "I can't be with you. I'm sorry."

Melinda almost had a heart attack when she came home late that night. The living room truly looked like some robbers had broken into their apartment. The furniture was standing everywhere but not in the place where it belonged to, a lamp lay on the floor, the carpets had been convoluted and stacked in front of the bathroom door and most paintings had been removed from the walls. "Hello!?", she anxiously murmured into the room, her voice almost broke doing it.

"You're home!", Emily appeared out of her room, smiling happily. "You know, I thought about our arrangements again and came to the conclusion that we actually need new furniture. The red of the couch simply doesn't harmonize with our wallpaper."

"It fits perfectly. That's why we bought it", Melinda explained confused, relieved and angry all in one. "What are you doing here anyways? I didn't expect you to be home by the end of the week."

"A change of plans", Emily answered casually. "And the couch won't harmonize with the new one."

"The new one?"

"The new wallpaper", she explained just as if Melinda was a child that hadn't listened and took another painting off the wall. "The painter will apply it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow…"

"You're going to love it, Sweetie, it has an adorable dusky pink and beige imprinting. Very British. Sophisticated", Emily explained, while she tried to push a commode away. "It'll make the living room much more inviting and comfortable. Help me with this please", she finally asked as the wooden cabinet didn't move a millimetre.

"Alright", Melinda murmured and did what she was told to. "Although you could've asked me before you order new wallpapers and decided to get rid of our couch. Because I really liked how it was", she told Emily shirty.

"It was nice, but not perfect. I simply don't see why we should be satisfied with something less than perfect", she disagreed and looked at the scratches that the shifting of the commode had left on the floor. "We should inlay a new floor as well. Cherrywood or Wengé – what do you think?"

"I need a drink."

"We could get us a nice bar as well. I saw some adorable ones in a catalogue of Daniel James. There are some great couches in it as well", without stopping to talk about furniture, Emily looked around for the catalogue in question and found it after some minutes, happily waving with it, while Melinda almost had finished her first glass of gin. "Besides, I thought about buying some new paintings. I can't see those still life's anymore. Charcoal drawings would look nice in here. Klimt would be great."

"Yeah", Melinda dryly toasted into Emily's direction. "Let's get a copy of Klimt's _Masturbation _and one of the_ Missionaires_. Oh – and I always found his _Variations_ to be a very beautiful drawing, too."

"Melinda!", Emily called out appalled.

She laughed. "It wasn't me who suggested Klimt, but you. And you know perfectly well how wrecked good old Gustav was."

"And you know perfectly well that I wasn't talking about those pornographic scribblings of him", she answered a little offended. "Dürer would work, too. Matisse or Kirchner. DaVinci. Titian. Van Gogh."

"Quiet a range of different styles and epochs you're suggesting there."

"I'm just giving you the opportunity to choose whatever you want."

"You have great taste, I'm sure you'll find something appropriate."

"I can't do that alone, I need your help", Emily sat next to Melinda. "You have to help me, because I need someone to help me", she continued, and Melinda slowly began to realize what this actually was about.

"What happened?", she asked carefully.

"Nothing", she denied and grabbed another catalogue. "Nothing that could compete against the new collection of floor lamps by Laura Ashley. Those lampshades are ador-"

"Emily", Melinda interrupted her with a warningly tone in her voice; she simply was too tired to play one of Emily's games.

"What? I really don't know -"

"Stop fooling me", Melinda demanded.

"I'm not fooling you."

"Alright", she shrugged her shoulder and got up. "I'm off to bed then."

"Wait!", Emily protested. "You can't go to bed before we haven't discussed the new arrangement in detail."

"I can."

"No you can't, not before we haven't picked out a goddamn, bloody couch", she hissed.

Melinda startled. She probably could count the occasions in which Emily had forgotten her decent education and sworn on one hand. Therefore she walked back to the sofa and sat down again. "I always loved leather", she explained and reached for one of the catalogues. "A dark brown leather couch would look great with the new wallpaper", she continued, feeling Emily's thankful look lying on her.

"It would", her friend stated. "It captures the British style perfectly."

"Talking of style", she pointed at a picture. "I love this carpet."

"Absolutely", Emily nodded enthusiastic. "It's lovely", she added and tried to bring up the courage to confess the failure of her relationship. Her failure.

To be continued

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ATN: Thanks for the lovely and detailed reviews everyone, Thanks to Mel! 


	13. Dealing With Fiancées

**Dealing With Fiancées**

Emily Johnson had bargained for a dressing down, incriminations and reproaches. She wouldn't have deserved better after all. But it didn't happen after she finally found the courage to tell her mother about the break-up during an unannounced visit in between tea-time at the club of Albany and a DAR function. To tell the truth, Emily did not really tell her mother about the break-up (neither had she told Melinda in detail), but only used the nice and rather noncommittal paraphrase "As I'm untethered now" before she agreed to a dinner with her family next Saturday.

There was a second of silence before Lillian Johnson nodded. "Alright", she said strangely calm.

"Alright?", Emily repeated bewildered and stiff, unsure if her mother had understood the hint.

"It's not me, who'll spend her life as unmarried woman."

She had, Emily realized, she had. "I will find someone", she hence said reconciliatory, hoping her mother would understand, despite Emily knowing she wouldn't. No surprise as she still didn't understand it full-fledged herself. "Someone more suitable than Robert", she therefore added.

Lillian sighed upon Emily's naivety. "Robert Tadman would've been a very good choice and you proudly set a naught as if alternatives were hiding behind every corner. They aren't, Emily. Especially as you're almost twenty-one and hence your chances to find an appropriate husband get less with every day", she looked at her eldest daughter. Disregarding her age, the expression in her face hadn't changed through the years. It was still the same expression Emily had as a little girl whenever she had eroded something, knowing it was wrong in advance. "Of course, I don't begrudge you to get married", Lillian acknowledged, knuckling under a laconic flash of nostalgia, still grateful for the fact that she only had two children to deal with, afflicted that none of them was a son. "Not only because there's a lot at stake, but because you're my daughter."

For a second Emily's heart stopped beating and she probably was the little girl Lillian Johnson had remembered. "Mother -", she started low.

"Enough for today", Lillian interrupted her resolutely. "I've to go to a function and I'm sure you've important things to do as well."

"Yes, mother", she nodded respectful. She was right. Time was running. Emily had to hurry, if she wanted to find a husband. But then, it really couldn't be that hard to find someone. Someone she would be able to feel more for than just sympathy. Someone like Richard, she caught herself adding and pressed her lips upon the thought, wishing she never had met him. That is, she had to stop thinking of him, if she wanted to find somebody else. And she wanted to. She really did. She had to.

Actually Richard Gilmore was supposed to pack his private belongings for his move to Edmeston, where he'd start as an insurance agent trainee at the _New York Central Mutual Fire Insurance Company_ on Monday. Instead he sat at a table in between the numerous packing cases however and checked the notes he had made on "War and Peace".

"Richard", Pennilyn stated rather annoyed, while she packed his books away. "You're not supposed to read a book, but pack them away."

"Just one minute", he murmured absentmindedly and got up, heading towards the case with his office utensils while Pennilyn folded her arms.

"The books won't pack themselves."

With some blank sheets and a pencil, Richard walked back to the table. "This is important", he explained and sat down.

"More important than having everything stowed until the moving company gets here tomorrow morning at seven?" Pennilyn rolled her eyes when he didn't answer, but started to copy his notes onto a new sheet. "Hello? Richard! The books!", she exclaimed.

"This won't take long, darling", he eventually looked up.

"It better not", she murmured displeased. "Because I actually wanted to have the packing done as fast as possible and spend some time with you before you vanish into no man's land."

"Edmeston is not no man's land. It's a lovely small town in New York."

"A lovely small town three hours from Northampton."

"I told you to go to Barnard."

"I would've loved to and it would've been perfect, if it wouldn't be a _four_ hour drive, but you'd taken the job in Manhattan instead", she answered sulking. "But no, it had to be Edmeston and now I'm going to stale in Northampton for the next twelve months. Not to talk of the fact that I'll die of boredom in Edmeston as soon as we're married."

"We discussed that already", Richard answered without looking up, but continued writing. "The offer of the CM was simply the best offer with the best career opportunities - not to talk of the generous salary I'm going to get. We plan to start a family after all, Lynnie", he paused for a second. "What about Wellesley? You still could go there", he suggested carefully. "It has a better reputation than Smith anyway."

"Four and a half hours."

"But Wellesley offers more classes on Italian Art."

"While Smith offers Romance Languages as minor and therefore they'll impute all my certificates."

"Bernard will do that, too", he reminded her. "Seriously, there isn't that much of a difference between three and four hours driving, at least none that would justify your decision to stale in Northampton instead of enjoying Manhattan."

"I really don't see why you're constantly criticizing my choice to go to Smith while I'm supposed to accept your choice to move to Edmeston without objections."

"I'm not criticizing your choice", he called out, which caused him to smear the last letters. "I'm just trying to encourage you to visit a college in a city you love instead of going to Northampton because of 60 minutes", Richard rumpled the sheet angrily. "We've successfully handled a distance of a half journey around the world after all; 60 minutes is a joke compared to that! **_I _**really don't see why you're trying to turn me into the madman all of sudden", he sighed when he saw the hurt look on Pennilyn's face his scolded words had caused. "Come here", he waved her towards him and pulled her onto his lap. "I just want you to be happy", he stated to placate her and stroke a strand out of her face. Sometimes it was hard for him to adjust to their new situation, his new situation after the years of separation and act not like a free man anymore. He had to get used to it - moreover they had to get used to each other again.

"Being close to you makes me happy", she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him. "And Smith is the closest I can get."

"Alright", he put a kiss onto her forehead. "Smith it is", with a nod he reached for his pencil again and a new sheet, continuing to transcript while Pennilyn buried her head on his shoulder and watched him silently.

"Why are you doing this?", she asked after a while.

Richard had no idea, at least none that was reasonable. Actually it was preposterous. "Having my notes on one sheet only is more habile", he hence gave Pennilyn a pretty lame excuse and she snorted amused.

"You're never going to get that onto one sheet only."

"I will", he disagreed a little offended.

"Your writing is even bigger than the one on the other two sheets. Moreover, we have to get the packing done."

Richard sighed. "You're right", he conceded and rumpled this sheet, too. "Besides really no one can be able to put the essence of a masterwork like "War and Peace" onto two sides only", he threw the paper ball into the waste bin, a brief kiss before the couple continued to pack.

Robert Tadman had been searching for Emily the entire evening long and when he finally found her in a bar in Holyoke there was already a big amount of alcohol running through his veins. She sat at a table nearby the window, her loose hair falling in curls over her shoulders and back. Her eyes laughed as did her lips and lost in her sight, he forgot his anger and trauma for a moment. A brief moment only, then he realized that her laugh engaged another man. So fast, he thought with a mixture of depressiveness and disgust. Only four days ago he had been sure she'd marry him and here she was, drinking wine with another man, talking with him, laughing with him. Four days ago everything had been alright, four days only had been enough to bring the roof on his head and now he was standing here, crestfallen, heartsick and unemployed. The thought of his unemployment reminded him of the reason for his need to talk to Emily. With a last deep breath, he entered the bar and walked towards Emily's table. She was shocked to see him, he could tell despite the fact that she was a master of controlling any expressions. Still she didn't refuse to have a minute with him and followed Robert outside.

"What are you doing here?", she eventually asked when they were standing in a small byroad. The softness in her voice broke something in him.

"Can't you tell?"

"No", Emily shook her head and a sigh escaped her lips. "Robert, I -"

"You left me. You left me without a job."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You have no idea?", he let out a shrill laugh, slowly loosing control despite his resolutions to not. "Well, here's a reminder: I told you I love you and you sent me off to hell."

"Robert -", Emily raised her hands in defeat.

"And as if that wasn't bad enough you caused your uncle to fire me!"

"I did not cause him to fire you", Emily denied. "I'm in no way concerned with business matters."

"Sure", he snorted. "I'm not stupid, Emily! I knew they did not hire me because of my grades only, but because of my relationship with you as well. They fired me because of it. They fired me and my whole career. My whole life is ruined now."

"I'm sure, you'll get another job."

"I will not. At least not in an appropriate timeframe", he lowered his voice. "I called all the other companies off, Emily. They don't hire someone who called them off. The jobs are taken, at least the good ones. This whole affair will brand me and my professional résumé forever."

"I had no idea", she shook her head. "But I will try to fix this, Robert."

"Fix it", he repeated sadly, looking at the woman opposite him. Fix it, he thought, fix the most important thing. "Forget about the job", he hence said and tenderly laid a hand on her cheek. "I don't want that job, if I can have you. Anything, Emily, I would do anything to get you back. I want to be with you. I love you."

"You'll get your job back", she took a step back. "You'll get it back", she promised and vanished in the bar again.

Proudly Richard Gilmore sat behind the desk in his office that still smelled and felt new and exciting. It was not more than his third day, but he was already intrigued with his job and work. The people he worked with were friendly and competent. He knew he'd be able to learn a lot and was sure he'd become one of the bests in this business with the training he'd get here. The only thing that obfuscated his contentment was Pennilyn's final and unbudgeable decision to go to Smith. Actually it wasn't her decision that bothered him, but the fact that her decision bothered him. He knew he shouldn't care. It was ridiculous that he was afraid to run into Emily. He loved Pennilyn. He loved her while he only had a crush on Emily. A crush that slowly faded away anyhow. A crush he actually only remembered when he found himself doing stupid things like scaling down his list of "War and Peace". A crush he notwithstanding couldn't help to fear, that possibly could flame up again, if he met her again.

The unintentional chances to meet Emily grew even bigger when Pennilyn called him on his lunch break. She happily informed him that she not only had found a nice apartment in Northampton, but a tutor who would help her to adjust with the life and policies at an American college as well. First Richard was glad for Pennilyn, too. He knew she was scared that the change of universities could have a bad impact on her grades and he always had loved that his fiancée was taking her studies seriously instead of studying as pretence. However, the description of her tutor alongside the name she mentioned made him worry that he knew Pennilyn's helper and the helper knew Emily - unless there was more than one blonde curled and "thoroughly sweet and endearing" (as Pennilyn had called her enthusiastically) history of arts graduate named Melinda visiting Smith. Well, Richard thought, Melinda really was a quiet common name and heaven knew how many girls went with the fashion to dye and curl their hair (although his reason made him doubt this theory). Moreover - even if it was Emily's flatmate, she was Pennilyn's tutor only and they probably wouldn't become friends (although Pennilyn's _sweet and endearing_ comment made him doubt the theory, too). Even so if he did see Emily again, it didn't mean that she'd be able to fascinate him once more (this time his stomach made him doubt his theory) and he worried without any reason. Although, he wouldn't really call it worrying, definitely not. Just - well, less than worrying, whatever it was. Actually, Richard had convinced himself by the end of his break, he was looking forward to see Emily again (if he should happen to see her again) and prove himself that she wouldn't have any effect on him at all. Eventually, he was a happily engaged man. Very engaged and very happy.

Carl Johnson was burning with anger - and frustration. He was a sixty-one year old man after all, if fate would be merciful he'd probably have ten, maybe even twenty years left, but he wasn't willing to leave the future of the _Johnson Trade Inc_. to something as flighty and incalculable as fate. Actually, he hated it to leave anything to anyone, but preferred it to do things alone. He had learned that there was no one to be trusted but him. Hence, he hated it that he needed his nieces to protect the company, girls who apparently were just as flighty and incalculable as fate. Especially the elder one, whom he always had considered to be the more dutiful and level-headed, had let him down with her sudden separation of Robert Tadman. She, Emily, was the reason for his anger, his frustration. The fact that she had asked him for a meeting angered him even more. There was nothing he had to discuss with that girl, nothing she had to say worth listening to. Moreover, she wasn't supposed to spend her time chatting with him, she was supposed to find a man, marry and give birth to his heir. Still, he had agreed to meet her, partly out of curiosity, partly out of the need to confront her and mostly because of Henry's cajoling. The influence his lover had over him irritated Carl sometimes, the fact that he was able to calm and lead him to see things clearly again after eruptions. Still, it wasn't the worst. If there hadn't been Henry, he never would've continued to support Baldwin and his spawn fifteen years ago and there wouldn't be any chance to get an acceptable heir at all. And maybe Henry was right this time too, maybe the talk with his niece would achieve a result, although Carl had no idea what this result would be.

"She's here", Henry announced after he silently had closed the door of Carl Johnson's office.

"At least she's punctual", he took a sip at his Scotch without taking his eyes from the window.

"Be nice", he felt Henry's hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know why."

"Because you need her", he reminded him of the obvious and Carl sighed.

"Alright", he eventually turned around. "Let her in", he emptied his glass and gave it to Henry, then walked to his desk and folded his hands with awkward anticipation.

Emily Johnson sat in the antechamber of her uncle's offices and tried to suppress her nervousness, the awkward anticipation that filled her. She wasn't eager to meet Carl Johnson, not at all, but she felt responsible for Robert's dismissal, awfully responsible and if there was anything she could do to help him keeping his job, she was willing to do it.

"Mr. Johnson will see you now", the secretary said and she startled.

"Thank you", Emily got up and managed it to create a smile and a dignified nod, following the elder man into the big and impressing office.

Carl Johnson sat behind a huge desk, he didn't look like she had expected him to look like, although she had no idea how she had expected him to look. Not so much like her father maybe, not so nice.

"Emily Johnson", the secretary said and left the room.

"Good day", she greeted Carl Johnson with another fake smile, unsure how the proper procedure for such a meeting was. He was her uncle, yet she never had seen him before, not since she'd been a child and hence she had no idea how to speak to him, if to curtsy, shake hands or even hug or kiss him.

"Sit down", Carl told her without any greeting at all and Emily felt even more uncomfortable.

It must be the grey hair that had misled her, she realized while she accommodated his demand, it made him look mild and friendly. Grey hair always did that with people, but there was no friendliness in his voice and acting at all. "Why did you request this appointment?", Carl asked without spending time on exchanging courtesies. Beating around the bush always tired him, moreover they were time-consuming, time-consuming and expensive. Time is money. Carl would've signed the saying without a blink.

For a second Emily hesitated, but as he had asked her directly, she thought it'd be best to give him a direct answer. "I want you to reemploy Robert Tadman", she hence told him the reason for her visit.

"You _want_ me to reemploy Robert Tadman", Carl repeated her, unsure if he should be impressed by her forthrightness or annoyed by the impudentness of her demand.

"Yes."

"This is not going to happen", he stood up to get himself another drink. "But it was interesting to meet you", Carl saw her off. "I said it was interesting to meet you", he disbanded her again, when his niece didn't get up and leave the room. "Goodbye, Emily", he said with emphasis.

"But -", Emily swallowed confused, but it didn't help to get rid of the lump in her throat. Calm, she reminded herself, stay calm and friendly. Calm. "You can't send me away without having listened to me", she eventually stated quietly but certain.

Carl frowned. He was not used to objections of any kind. "First, I have heard enough", he trounced her therefore. "Second, I don't have to do a thing."

"I don't have to do a thing then either", she got up, proud reflecting in her face.

"There's still Henrietta."

"Two racehorses advance the odds."

Carl couldn't help to let out a dry laugh. "This is not about racehorse, it's about broodmares. And what's a broodmare without a stud?", he stated how it was. "Only a very bad horse breeder would put a gelding into his stables. Especially, if he's only having two of them."

"One is free until I'll marry. Actually it is two as Henrietta isn't married either", Emily responded, hardly trying to hide the trembling of her voice. "Let Robert work for your company until he is successful and will be able to get another good job", she pleaded Carl, although she would've preferred it to spit onto his shoes.

"I give you one year, Emily", he paused for a second, realizing that Henry had been right. There would be a result, one that would yield the much expected fruits. "Let's say one and a half", he added generously, softened by satisfaction. "But if you aren't married by your twenty-second birthday, you'll agree to marry whomever I choose. And it's not the worst choice you can make. After all I already set up a very successful marriage - ask your mother", he smiled contented. It wouldn't be a problem to find a husband for Emily. Not that the financial benefits wouldn't be bait enough, but it was always easier to marry off an attractive girl. As he was keeping one in his hand, he would be able to choose among the best and therefore the company would be in good hands after his death.

"Alright", she agreed. One and a half year seemed to be an eternity. Not a big one, but plenty of time to find a husband and overcome the agreement without taking a smear in the end. Besides, Emily thought dryly, she'd kill herself anyway, if she wouldn't be married with twenty-two. "I accept."

Her fast endorsement surprised Carl and his contemptuousness for Emily almost vanished. "It was a pleasure to bargain with you, especially as I price quickness and efficiency highly", he poured another glass of Scotch and handed it her. "Moreover, I price a sense of family and greatness even higher and you seem to be capable of both."

Instead of an answer Emily emptied her glass with one gulp and put it onto the desk. "Goodbye, Uncle Carl", she took her leave.

"Goodbye, Emily", Carl answered after she had left his office already and toasted towards the closed door, a smile played around his lips. "It was really interesting to meet you. Interesting and profit-yielding", he emptied his glass too, deciding to present Henry a new car. A Jaguar maybe. A Porsche or a Mercedes. Something expensive by all means, something that would demonstrate his gratitude worthily. Maybe they even could go on a short journey. Now that the future was safe, he could allow himself a short downtime.

To be continued

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ATN: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews everyone (especially to Cira (you're crazy ;)) and to Mel for being the great and fast and helpful Beta she is. Bows. 


	14. 47 Minutes

**47 Minutes**

The summer drew to a close, college had started again and Emily was thrilled. Not so much because of the classes (which she enjoyed), but because of the fact that the campuses at the east coast were filled with life again. So were the bars, cafés and dance halls and therefore it was much easier to snatch dates. Having remodelled her dating system, Emily didn't miss a single opportunity to date. Actually she wasn't doing anything but dating in between the classes. The bigger the range of men, she thought, the higher the chances to find the right one - although she hadn't succeeded so far.

"Sweetie", Emily exclaimed while opening the door. "I need you to do me a favour", she hastily threw her purse onto their new British commode and hung her blazer onto the dearly bought antique French coat rack. "I won't be able to pick up my laundry from the dry-cleaning in between coffee with Gerald and theatre with Paul, but I need it, if I don't want to have dinner with Ernest naked."

"Who's Paul?", Melinda wrinkled her forehead and only now Emily realized that they were having a guest.

"A student of the University of Northampton", she explained. "Hello", she greeted the tall blonde sitting on their leather couch.

"Hi, I'm Pennilyn Lott", she answered with a smile. "How do you do?"

"Just like one of the Bennet sisters", Emily answered distracted and faced her flatmate again. "Could you pick up my laundry, please?"

"Of course", Melinda agreed, biting her tongue.

"Thank you", she smiled weakly. "And please make sure they're ironed orderly. The last time those incapable temps ironed folds into my dresses instead of ironing them out, wherefore I'm paying them after all."

"I'll only pay them, if the ironing is perfect", Melinda calmed Emily.

"Good", she nodded and walked back to her purse, hauling out some dollar bills. "The pick-up tickets are hanging at the pin board in the kitchen. And here's some money", she handed Melinda the bills.

"Alright", her friend took them. "I wanted to show Pennilyn some good shops anyways."

"Sounds nice."

"Oh yes, I'm really looking forward to it", Pennilyn nodded and tried to bring a return to the conversation. "We've already -"

"I'd love to chat with you, but I'm in a hurry. Sorry", Emily interrupted her and vanished in her room to change for her date.

"She seems to be nice", Pennilyn remarked, despite she had another impression. "And stressed", she therefore couldn't help to add.

"Well", Melinda raised her brows. Emily was really stressed. Of course she was as she baited from one date to the next. First Melinda had thought it was her way to handle the ominous break-up with Robert, the abasement of being left she must feel. But instead of slowing down and opening up after some time, it had gotten worse. Her flatmate was more incommunicative than ever and sometimes her strange behaviour annoyed Melinda like hell. "Will you excuse me for a second, please?", she got up and followed Emily into her room.

"Who's Paul?", she asked again after she had closed the door.

"I already told you", her friend huddled on a new dress. "A student of the local university. I just met him in the city and he asked me out."

"So you're picking your dates up off the streets, now", she folded her arms.

"I did not pick him up off the street. I meet him in the line at library, when I submitted some overdue books. They really should hire more personnel, I waited almost twenty minutes", she hastily got into some shoes and walked to her dressing table. "Oh - and when it was finally my turn that incompetent teenager at the counter needed another five minutes to search out my card and put the stamp on it. You should've seen her face; she peered like she was doing an open heart surgery. As if it's a big deal to take a stamp and put it onto a record card. Everyone could do that, even a blind dog with three legs", Emily held up two different pairs of earrings. "Which one?"

"Diamonds are a girl's best friend."

"One really should decorate the library for finding and hiring the only being on earth who isn't able to perform that act fast", Emily donned her diamond earrings. "And silent. The walls of the building trembled when she rubber-stamped, I swear, and I was seriously worried she'd cut herself a finger off with that thing", she took a step back and checked herself in the mirror. "How do I look?"

"You look great, Em", Melinda said. "It's just -", she stopped and pressed her lips.

"What is it?", she looked down. "The shoes. They don't fit, do they?", she hasted back to her shoe bin.

"The shoes are just fine. However, I doubt that you're fine", she eventually overcame her inhibitions.

"I'm fine."

Doubtfully Melinda pursed her lips. "Are you sure?"

"Of course", she laughed nervously. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Three dates a day?"

"And?", Emily put on her blank face, a brief glint of her dark eyes was the only movement.

"Three dates, Emily. Three. That's insane."

"It is not", she disagreed and picked out new shoes. "It's necessary."

"Necessary for what?"

"To find a man. A husband. Otherwise I'll end up in the library, accepting and sorting books like my new spectacled friend Jane The Snail Doe - and heaven knows I'd kill myself after one hour, despite it'd do a marvellous job."

"Still, I think you should slow down."

"I have no time to slow down."

"I know how it feels, Emily. Gosh, after all I'm the queen of the heart-broken and left women", Melinda eventually stopped the havering. She had to, if she wanted to get anywhere as Emily refused to respond to her attempts to go about the actual subject slowly. "But as long as you're still regretting Robert, your mind isn't -."

Emily frowned. "As much as I'd love to continue this talk, I've to hurry now", she cut her of.

"You don't have to hurry", Melinda staid stubborn. "You even don't have to go. Not to the date with Gerald, not to the ones with Paul and whatever the name of the third one was, because you'll never see them again afterwards anyhow."

"Where would you know from?", she asked loud, eventually loosing her containment.

"I've been watching this for two months now, Emily. I know it. You meet them, you date them, you send them into the desert."

"Until I find someone, I won't send into the desert. And to find that someone, I have to hurry now and have coffee with Gerald, because he just might be that one. End of the discussion", Emily stated with clenched teeth and ditched Melinda.

A low rumble woke Melinda up. With a dozy blink she checked her alarm clock that showed 11:13 pm. First she dropped back onto her pillow, but when she heard further rumblings in the living room, she decided to check on Emily and got up.

"Hey there", she greeted Emily with a tired smile, who was sitting on the couch nonchalantly, her legs on the coffee table, a glass of vodka in her hand.

"Hey", she toasted towards Melinda. "Did I wake you up?"

"Nah", she denied and sat next to her. "How did it go?"

"It was nice."

"Nice?"

"Nice."

"No three times charm?"

"No", she sipped at her drink. "But tomorrow's a new day."

"Skip tomorrow's date."

Emily rolled her eyes. "I already told you this afternoon that I -"

"And I got you", Melinda interrupted her. "However, we've an invitation for tomorrow evening."

"From whom?", she stared into her glass, circulating the pellucid liquid in it.

"Pennilyn."

"Pennilyn?"

"Pennilyn Lott."

"Should I know her?"

"You met her this midday."

"I did?", she wrinkled her forehead. "Oh!", she finally exclaimed and averted her gaze from the vodka. "Yes. The tanned, blonde beanpole on our couch. I remember her."

"Well, the _beanpole_ invited us to her housewarming party. She has a lovely apartment downtown."

"Why should she invite me? I don't know her."

"She knows me."

"Why do you know her?"

"I'm her tutor."

"Sweet Sweetie", she smiled and the friends exchanged a glance. "Why anyone would want to be a tutor is beyond me however", she continued. "Those clouded freshmen are a scourge. Just today I ran into two giggling girls in front of "The Walking Man" on the museum court, who couldn't get over the fact that he - I quote - _has no willy_", she rolled her eyes with a snidely snort, emptied her glass and got up. "If that's the only idea Rodin's work is giving them, I really feel gloomy about the future of the American educated class", she poured herself another vodka. "Want one, too?"

"I already brushed my teeth."

"Who stops you from brushing them again?"

"My worries about the future of the American educated class."

"Don't worry, you have no stake on it anyways", she poured a second glass with her words.

"As I'm a tutor, I'm at least having a stake on some of those clouded freshmen."

Emily handed Melinda her drink. "Tell them a missing _willy _doesn't detract from Rodin's brilliance. That man was a genius. I think I spent two days in the Musée Rodin when I was in Paris for the first time", another gulp of vodka.

"I love that Camille Claudel helped him to create some of his works", Melinda smiled moonily. "They made them together and later no one could tell who hew which part of a sculpture. The perfect symbiosis."

"Symbiosis", once more Emily snorted, despite she felt it was the perfect description for the marrow of a good marriage. "You're letting out the end, Sweetie. How he let her down. How she ended up in psychiatry, alone and forgotten."

"Maybe", she shrugged her shoulders. "It's more romantic this way."

"It's a concealment of facts."

"Let me have my sentimentalities."

"I'll never understand your tendency to romanticize things", Emily took another sip. "How can you forget the negative the moment it happens? You're walking through life as if it was a big and never ending party with friends and fun only."

"Talking of big parties and friends", Melinda said, not affected by Emily's fair comment at all. "Come to that party with me", she put her untouched glass onto the coffee table and got up. "Let yourself have a break", she touched Emily's back while she headed towards her room.

"And who'll find me a Rodin?", she asked dryly.

"Didn't you just find fault that he never married Camille?"

"And hence she ended up in psychiatry", Emily replied and toasted to their coat rack. "Here's to you, bright future of mine", she emptied her glass. "Alright", she agreed, stuck in a thick and gooey sludge made of vodka and self-pity, weariness and resignation. "I'll accompany you."

After Melinda had vanished in her room Emily slowly got up. First she swilled the vodka out the glasses, then she showered away the smells of the day and dates from her body. Unfortunately, she thought tired while she collapsed into her bed and pulled the blanket over her head, she couldn't wash away her tedious feelings.

Pennilyn Lott's apartment lay in a busy street full of restaurants, pubs and shops that gave one the impression to be at the beat of the city and life. The bustle was the main reason she had decided to move into it, a slight copy of Florence and New York. Due to the alarums and excursions until midnight, the rent even was ludicrously low for an apartment like that. It had a favourable layout and despite there were many guests at the party it wasn't too crowded, but the people were scattered in the kitchen, the living room and the big balcony facing the yard. Still, Richard Gilmore would've preferred it to spend the evening alone with his fiancée or at least at a party where he would've been able to socialize with possible business partners. It was funny, he realized, some months ago such parties had been an important part of his life and now he suddenly felt too adult for them. Whereas he wouldn't have minded to spend an enjoyable evening with intelligent people. Talks about interesting topics at least would've been a reasonable distraction. Due to Pennilyn's stay abroad they hadn't a common circle of friends however and he hardly knew anybody. Moreover, most of the guests were fellow students of Lynnie and hence females, the few guys were mostly younger and they all talked about university, insider discussions he had nothing to contribute to. Boredom tempted Richard to leave the party, something he of course couldn't do as his fiancée was the host. Therefore, he stood in front of a window, a glass of Champagne in his hand and stared at the busy street below, observing the passing people, those who entered and left the cater-cornered Greek restaurant, the probably Pakistani woman who sat at her sewing-machine in the dimly lit alterations shop next to it and a couple of old men who sat in front of a pub, playing cards and drinking beer, slapping their thighs whenever they laughed. Every now and then a cab would stop in front of the house, bringing new guests, carrying flowers or wrapped bottles as hostess gift.

Just now another cab stopped and two young women got out. It took Richard a second to realize who they were, another one to note that Emily looked even better than within his recollection. She wore a high-necked, dark green dress that only gave sight to the lower parts of her shanks and something was different with her hair. It was shorter, he asserted after some seconds of pondering, the dark curls stopped at her shoulders, besides she seemed to have lost some weight, at least her cheeks looked narrower as far as he could tell from the distance. Melinda said something to Emily and they looked up, which involuntary caused Richard to take three steps back and he felt blood surging to his face. What to do, he asked himself, how to act. How to get rid of the nervousness he suddenly felt. He took a sip at his champagne, although he didn't like the sweet and gluey beverage. Therefore he decided to get a drinkable drink first, a nice Scotch or Whiskey.

Richard plied with a bottle of Royal Lochnagar and some ice tubes, when he felt a hand on his back and turned around.

"Darling", Pennilyn exclaimed happily. "I want you to meet my tutor Melinda McGee and her flatmate Emily Johnson", she introduced the two women standing next to her. "Melinda, Emily, my wonderful fiancé Richard Gilmore."

"Hello", Richard stated politely and offered Melinda his hand. "Pennilyn already told me a lot about you."

"Did she?", Melinda smiled, having a hard time to hide her astonishment upon the identity of Pennilyn's fiancé.

"Yes", he nodded, a brief glance at Emily. "It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

"It is", Emily bit her tongue as he didn't offer her his hand as well. Maybe he didn't like her, but that wasn't a reason to act so impolite and even pretend they never met before. Actually, she was in the mood to tell Pennilyn that they actually did not only know each other but had been dating. But then there had been something in Richard's eyes during the glance that had told her to bite her tongue.

"Scotch anyone?", Richard asked cheerily just to say something and held up his glass.

"I could take a drink", Emily answered as friendly as possibly without looking at him, but stared at a painting behind him. "I would prefer something like gin or vodka, however."

"I've a nice bottle of Beefeater here", he suggested.

"Sounds perfect."

"Would you like to have some tonic or lime juice with it?"

"No, thank you", she denied and asked herself, how long she had to stay in order to make a polite leaving.

Richard asked himself the same. "Ice or soda?", he asked her.

"No, really", she shook her head. "Just a glass of pure gin." Two hours, she decided, one and a half if she told Pennilyn she had to meet her mother early the next morning. One, if she excused herself with a headache. As there really was an unpleasant knock behind her temples, it even wouldn't be that much of a lie.

"Here you go", Richard gave her the glass. Their fingers touched and an irritated Emily eventually looked at him as he held the touch longer than necessary. "Melinda?", he hastily faced Pennilyn's tutor to avoid the eye contact he actually had wanted to catch.

"I take a gin, too", she said. "Gin and vermouth."

"A Martini it is", Richard mixed the drink, while Emily excused herself to greet a friend she had spotted in the party and Pennilyn and Melinda started to talk about a course.

"She's really nice", Richard told Pennilyn after Melinda had vanished in the crowd as well.

"Of course she is, I told you so."

"Her flatmate, Emily, she is -", Richard stopped and gave himself a scolding for the stupid attempt to talk about her with Pennilyn.

"Strange?", his fiancée finished his sentence. "Tell me about it. I really don't understand why a pleasant and nice person like Melinda is friends with a cold, arrogant and demanding person like her. I swear, the first time I met her she treated Melinda like she was her maid and me like I was air. And so did she now. She could've at least joined our conversation out of politeness instead of walking away as soon as she had her drink."

"Why did you even invite her, if you like her so less?", he asked carefully.

"To accommodate Melinda", she shrugged her shoulders. "Apparently Emily was just left by her long time boyfriend and Melinda thought she could need some distraction", Pennilyn sipped at her champagne. "If you ask me - I totally understand why he left her and with all the dates she's having, she has distraction enough."

"Now, now", feeling slightly uncomfortable, Richard patted her back. "Since when are you so viperish anyway?"

"I'm not viperish", she disagreed sulking and removed his arm from her waist and back. "I simply can't stand people who think they're cut above the rest. I never could and you know that."

"Alright", he calmed her. "I'm sorry. This aggressive talk of yours just surprised me."

"Your sophistry does the same to me."

He rolled his eyes, which annoyed Pennilyn even more. "Are you seriously trying to start a fight with me?", he asked.

"I'm trying to enjoy this party with you", she hissed.

"Fine."

"Yes", she looked at him with eyes darkened by anger. "Fine", she agreed and headed towards the kitchen.

Richard sighed and shook his head, the insignificant discussions Pennilyn and he had twice a day tired him. Sure, it got better, but sometimes they were like strangers who had to find out again how to act and react in the presence of the other best. They didn't have these problems when they had been together first and sometimes he couldn't help to regret the airy time of being freshly in love. May it be a coincidence or not, with that thought he found himself looking at Emily, who stood in a chatting group of students, her glass pressed to her chest, staring into space. A real idiot, he found himself thinking, to turn down Emily. This Robert must've lost his marbles. You must've lost your marbles, he told himself angrily, staring at her like that, so much about she and having no effect on you. Richard turned away and walked back to the window, where he continued to look at the street and its people.

Emily counted the minutes until she would be able to leave this place and party. She didn't know why, but seeing Richard again had knocked her for a loop, the fact that he was engaged even more. Engaged to a woman he could hardly know, after all Pennilyn just came back from a stay abroad in Europe. He seemed to be a man of fast decisions. Something she actually appreciated. But then it was really lightheaded to decide to marry a person he couldn't know longer than two or three months. Well, if he had already known her while they had been dating, Emily at least had an explanation for the fact that he had no interest in her. Of course he hadn't as he had been in love with the beanpole. Stupid beanpole with a horrible taste. The whole apartment looked like she had bought it out of a catalogue for modern design. Emily loathed the plastic-design which lately came into vogue. It was cold, uncomfortable and hurt in the eyes, just like Pennilyn's orange pantsuit offended the eye. Sure, the cut flattered her slim and tall body, she almost could understand why Richard found her attractive - still the colour. He really must be colour-blind. And bored, she added, since he was staring out of the window for an eternity now. For a second she was tempted to walk over to him, but of course she didn't. Rather she went to Pennilyn and excused herself with a headache. Maybe the hour wasn't up, still she couldn't stand it here any longer.

He saw how Emily left the house. He saw how she was standing in front of it, her arms folded around her body. He wondered why she stood there until it eventually crossed his mind that she probably was waiting for a cab. Dangerous, he thought, it was getting dark after all. Before he had finished the thought, he found himself leaving the apartment and walking down the stairs.

"You're leaving early", he said and she startled around.

"Not that it is any of your business, but I have a headache", she answered coldly and turned around again.

"Oh", he nodded and stood next to her, not close, still close enough to smell her perfume thanks to the low fall wind. "I'm sorry", he said after some minutes of silence.

"I beg your pardon?", she looked at him with confusion.

"The thing with Robert", he explained.

"That is none of your business either."

"Alright", he held up his hands and took a step back. "I'm not going to annoy you longer".

"Eventually", she fizzed.

"Why are you so belligerent? After all I just wanted to express my condolence."

"No one died, Richard."

"Well - no. Still I felt it would be only polite to express my sympathy to you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because you were abandoned and hence must feel bad."

"I'm not feeling bad", she exclaimed angrily. "I'm fine. So why is everybody assuming I am feeling horrible? And why the hell does everybody think Robert left me?", she burst. "He didn't. I did it. I left him, okay?"

"You left him?", he asked confused while a cab stopped in front of them.

"Yes", she stated with a firm voice and nod. "And now excuse me please, my head is killing me", she got into the car and closed the door before Richard had the chance to ask her about the whereabouts of her drop-a-name-statement.

To be continued

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ATN: Thanks, thanks, thanks for all the kind and adorable reviews, I love that they're so detailed - it's really appreciated, especially as Mary found a stupid and inexcusable fault in the timeline: Yes, Emily was born in 1944. It wasn't mentioned, yet, but in early January. Due to my timeline, we're in summer/fall 1963, now - and Mary totally got me, LOL. Mathematics never has been my strong point and so - despite my nice list/family tree - I totally messed up. In order to deal with that and put it back to a chronicle and logical line with my fic and the show (Due to my fic Richard is one year older than Emily, due the show he was born in January 1943 ("That'll do pig", although there isn't a real continuity in the R/E timeline, I decided to stuck with that) - I changed "her purse after her future husband, 1963" in Chapter 1 into 1964 as Emily is 20 right now. Thanks for the hint and I'm really sorry!

Thanks to Mel for encouraging me to post this chapter and her great job as beta! You're more than appreciated, you're indispensable. Hugs and flowers and apple martinis!


	15. Will You Be My Melinda McGee?

**Will You Be My Melinda McGee?**

Every fall the theatre of Northampton closed its doors for some weeks to prepare for the upcoming winter season, rehearse the new plays and do the accounting. However, the building wasn't unused during these times, but the local layman theatre group had the permission to use the premises for their annual performances. Despite their limited talent, the group was only contented with playing the classics of the theatre world, staging the works of Euripides and Sophocles, Goethe, Schiller, Chekhov and Molière with a determined belief in their abilities. This year they had decided to ennoble Shakespeare and his "Romeo and Juliet" with their attention, a spectacle which they would always remember as one of their biggest successes and most formidable performances. Emily Johnson however as a cruel deformation of Shakespeare's penmanship, that bad that she sometimes had troubles to not laugh out loud with amusement upon the obscure happenings on stage. Nevertheless, she would've preferred it to not see the play a seventh time in a month, still her date had thought it would be a brilliant idea to watch "Romeo and Juliet" - like the six previous - and hence she had agreed and was now standing in front of the theatre. James was already inside, actually both had already taken their seats, but after some minutes his babbling had annoyed Emily and she had excused herself politely to powder her nose. Now she stood here, staring at the ugly poster with the horse-faced Juliet and a swelling-out-of-his-tight-pantyhose Romeo and waited desperately for the backstage bell to announce the beginning of the play - silencing James contemporaneously.

Richard Gilmore hurried back to his car and looked for Pennilyn's lorgnette, which she had forgotten or lost in it, he didn't know, but still searched and eventually found it under the front passenger's seat. Maybe, he thought while he closed the car again, he should tell her that he hadn't succeeded and hopefully she would pass on the evening in theatre. Knowing Pennilyn and her soft spot for "Romeo and Juliet" for over six years, he knew she wouldn't and he discarded the idea. Walking back to the theatre with big steps, he slowed down on the stairs as he saw Emily standing in front of it. Actually he saw her back only and after some seconds he decided to greet her as everything else would've been impolite. Additionally she still owed him some answers from their last conversation and meeting two days ago.

"For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo", Richard quoted lackadaisical and stopped next to her.

Although she had winced at the sudden sound of his voice, Emily only gave him a short side glance, while he didn't look at her at all, but eyeballed the poster of "Romeo and Juliet" as if it was a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre. „I'm sure a romantically minded and lightheaded person like you will enjoy this woe and play", she taunted.

"I may have my romantic sides, maybe I'm even having a lightheaded side as you claim me to have", he replied without taking his eyes of the poster, still unable to not answer back her snotty remark. "But as much as I support relationships which emanate from love and as less as I doubt that Romeo and Juliet truly loved each other - romantic feelings alone aren't a surrey for never ending happiness, but only fundamental premises like a good communication guarantee the success of a relationship. Hence, I can assure you that no part of me supports the foolishness to die due to an uncondonable lack of communication skills. Moreover, far be it from me to have the want to end up unhappy."

Against her wishes Emily laughed low. "You can't use unhappy and die as synonyms", she found fault to cope with it.

"Of course I can."

"No", she disagreed. "It's like comparing French fries with mashed potatoes."

"Both are made out of potatoes", Richard objected. He was surprised how easy this was. But then Shakespeare was always a grateful subject.

"First is a crime against culinary art, second an insult to everyone with healthy teeth."

"I'm afraid I can't follow you", he eventually looked at her, not only interested in her looks, but curious about her answer.

"The insulted one is probably unhappy but still alive. The culinary art however is death and past recovery."

"Quiet an unorthodox metaphor, you're coming up with."

"Still a proof for the impossibleness to use unhappy and die as synonyms."

"I can vitiate this proof easily."

She folded her arms and looked at him with sparkling eyes. "I can't wait", she said and every syllable gave off confidence of victory even though she hadn't heard his argument yet.

"If I'd die, I'd be very unhappy."

This time she forbid herself to laugh, still her eyes did as Richard asserted with pleasure. "Maybe you'd be unhappy because you're dead", she told him instead, enjoying this talk beyond good reason and mind. "But unhappiness won't be the cause for your death, it'll be dying. Moreover, dead persons are not exactly known for emotional releases announcing unhappiness, therefore no one can tell if deads are unhappy. You might end up chuckling with joy in your velvet-upholstered casket."

"I don't think I'll agree with being dead."

"You won't be able to tell until you're dead."

He bended down a little and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Is that wishful thinking of yours?"

"You being dead?", she raised a brow with a grin, partly ignoring, partly savouring the physical reactions his closeness caused. "No", still smiling she shook her head. "I wouldn't agree with that."

Her answer made Richard smile as well, so did the beauty of her smile. "Agree like endorse or agree like tolerate?", he dug deeper, did it play- and careful as if their conversation was a Ming vase.

The question surprised Emily and she decided to tergiversate. "We aren't at the local High School synonym bee."

"No", he sighed, embracing parts of reality again. "But at the local High School performance."

"They aren't that bad", she laughed.

"They're not?"

"Well, they are. Romeo of Northampton is a bottomless pint who failed at Broadway, the Juliet looks, lopes and laughs like a horse and the actor playing Mercutio never remembers his lines, but as you're expecting them to be bad you won't be disappointed in the end. Moreover, their poor doing is really enjoyable. At least, if you're enjoying absurdity itself."

"On that note", Richard commented the double-chime that had resounded with Emily's last words and broke the moment.

"Yes, on that note", she nodded, embarrassedly raised brows and pulled a face. "Enjoy the _tragedy_."

"You, too", he answered and watched how Emily vanished inside the theatre before he entered it as well. It was better to not enter it together, he felt. Plus he could catch a glimpse of her well shaped backside.

Emily Johnson was glad when the play and date was finally over. This time she hadn't been able to enjoy a thing of the performance and James was a bore, annoying with his constant compliments, bothersome with his tone and laugh, cumbrous with everything he was and stood for. Still she gave in to his attempt to kiss her in front of the door. Emily Johnson, who didn't kiss on a first date, hadn't kissed anyone since Robert Tadman, in fact replied the kiss. She, the one who had spent the past weeks hunting, all of sudden had become the hunted, exhausted and drained and all she longed for was a break, all she felt an agitated need for contiguousness. It wasn't appeased, but turned into misgiving with the first touch of lips, averseness with every further second of feeling strange skin and saliva. When Emily eventually closed the door behind her that night, she was empty. Empty and tired. Without bothering to remove her make-up and shower, without removing more than her shoes, she crawled onto her bed and fell into a dreamless and unrestful sleep. When she woke up again, Emily was still tired, but the soulmud of the previous night only a grey shadow. Like a Swiss clockwork, she precisely kept doing what she was supposed to do, negating that the only pleasant moment within the last weeks had been a brief conversation in front of the theatre of Northampton. She had no time for phantasms.

It was unusually hot for October and just like a last wave of summer, the sun was gleaming into his room and onto his bed, grilling him awake out of a blurry and steamy dream. When Richard Gilmore eventually opened his eyes, he did not only feel the clammy pyjama and sheets on his skin, but a supinely prickling and satisfaction had survived the dream. He couldn't tell, if it had been Pennilyn or Emily, their voices and faces and smells had melted, sometimes more the one, sometimes more the other. A third woman, a phantasm, nothing he had to worry about, nothing that had to gnaw at his conscience. Richard got up and showered away the sticky fluids the heat and dream had left on his body, looking back at the previous night. Unlike his dream, Emily dominated these thoughts, although their conversation had been brief and he hadn't seen her again during the entire evening. By the time he had finished his shower, Richard started to worry that he wouldn't be able to control his growing and sprawling crush anymore. Moreover, he knew that he was outwitting himself by calling it a crush insistently. The carnivorous plant called infatuation had snapped at his trouser leg already and ate it up with smacking pleasure.

Melinda McGee was happy and nervous at the same time. Her birthday party was a full-fledged success, people where enjoying it and enjoying themselves and this morning Benjamin Nelson had told her, he had a very special birthday present, small but heavy, harboured in a small black box from Tiffany's. Later, years from now and in a new century, when she'd be an old woman with grey hair, she would sit in her rocking chair and her grandchildren and great grandchildren would surround her, while she'd tell them the story of her twenty-first birthday. The day she did not only came of age, had her first official glass of champagne and wore the most beautiful dress at the most wonderful party, but the beautiful day their wonderful grandfather had proposed to her as well (sweet daydreams of Sweetie. Sure she had them. There was no one, not even a bouncing gypsy woman, who told her she'd never hold her son's children in her arms as the distant future and new century held no free spot for her grey-haired self.)

"I'm loving today", Melinda told Emily and grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. "I'm simply loving it. It's simply perfect."

"It is", she smiled and frowned with a jumping heart a second later when two new guests entered the room. "You invited her?", she asked Melinda harshly.

"Of course I did."

"But I asked you to not invite her."

"After I already did. I couldn't possibly uninvited her. Besides, _I_ like her and it's _my_ birthday."

"And I'm your best friend", Emily countered. "At least, I thought so. But as you apparently forgot that Richard and I had been dating, I must've been mistaken."

"Richard?", Melinda whizzed. "Since when are you -", she stopped, while Emily stared at the floor. "God, Emily. Why haven't you told me?"

"There's nothing to tell", she murmured low, annoyed that she hadn't bit her tongue on time. "At least nothing worth telling. I simply don't feel comfortable when he's around. And now excuse me please", she took her leave when Pennilyn and Richard headed for the birthday girl. Facing him closely or even talking to him with the beanpole attached to his arm was simply different from a thoughtless and unintended conversation in front of a theatre. No matter how pleasant it had been. Not that it had been.

Richard wasn't surprised to see Emily here, nor was he surprised by the fact that she looked gorgeous and he couldn't help to notice and admire it or by the bad conscience which came with this conclusion as Pennilyn linked arms with him. The thought made him freeze. He really should've stuck with the original plan to tell his fiancée a white lie, but after having seen Emily again a week ago, after his trouser leg had been torn to pieces, he couldn't resist to come. Being really here and in the same room with Emily, he regretted it, forgoing her while he searched her in the crowd constantly just to look away again. Still it bothered him that she made no efforts to greet him with a brief _Hello _at last. After all she had been here first and it'd only be a polite thing for her to do.

The dance floor was crushed, but although Emily usually loved to dance she wasn't in the mood for it and defeated every invitation to do so, even the ones of today's date, a good looking and charming guy named Peter who had everything she actually was looking for and yet left her cold. It didn't leave her cold to see Richard and Pennilyn dancing however, holding hands and exchanging all the other small gestures of intimacy and love, but created a dragging pain in her stomach which she tried to ignore as good as possible. Sometimes Richard's eyes would meet hers for a second or two until one of both hastily looked away. It was the beanpole, Emily couldn't help to think bitterly. A week ago, in front of the theatre everything had been fine, but as soon as she showed up everything was ruined and Richard didn't even bother to say _Hello_. After all she had been here first and it'd only be a polite thing for him to do.

At midnight Benjamin Nelson jumped on the stage of the band and grabbed the microphone. The things he said flashed by at a paralyzed Emily, so did Melinda's happy exclamation, the _Yes_. People were pushing forward the freshly engaged couple and for a second she felt Richard's look on her again. She took two steps back, just to walk forwards again, elbowing her way to Melinda and Benjamin. She offered the bride-to-be best wishes and hugged her, afterwards politely shaking Benjamin's hand and congratulating him, while the knot in her throat grew bigger. For a while Emily was able to pull herself together, though she had no idea how or what she had been talking to her interlocutors and eventually she gave in the need to get out of the room and house as she had the feeling to choke.

Disquietingly Emily walked through the garden of the McGee house and left the property after a while, because the low sounds of the party nearly hurt physically in her ears. Of course she was happy that Melinda finally found someone, she deserved it, she truly did. But Emily had always thought, she'd be the first of them to be engaged and married and therefore the happiness for her friend was blurred with yellow poison. She hated herself for feeling that way upon Melinda's engagement; she hated herself for being such a bad friend, so paltry and poor. A hate that created anger all too soon, anger at herself first, a tremendous anger at everything then and she felt single tears of jealousy and fury dropping down her cheeks, which boiled her rage even more. Splenetic Emily ran her hand over her face and bit her lower lip, while she continued to walk. Three fast steps just to slow down, three slow steps just to speed again, finally huddling up at the curb stone, her arms entwined around her legs and her faces pressed against the smooth and cold material of her skirt, sobbing and crying like a child because she was unable to stop it and about things she couldn't name anymore.

Emily couldn't hear it, but the carnivorous plant called infatuation was gnawing on her heart.

To be continued

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ATN: Yep, the chapter title is stolen from the show. No, no more answers about the timeline. You'll find out and I'll comment in the ATN when the time and chapter is here ;) 

The reviews made me smile as they always do, thanks for that - much easier to write with a smile ;)

Mel is still a great Beta (who would've thought???). I owe you something.


	16. Blue, Blue, Blue Is All That I Have

**Blue, Blue, Blue Is All That I Have**

Emily Johnson spent the two days after Melinda's birthday party and engagement in her room. She spent them lying in her bed and staring at the ceiling while she turned of her feelings savagely to sort and analyze them rationally, just like she sorted everything in her life, people, wishes, needs and hopes, trying to find the essence. Eventually there were three things left. She had to find a man. Dating tired her as none of the men met the criteria. Criteria for which Richard Gilmore served as a rule, whether she kept continuing to search for a copy now - or she got herself the original. And as Emily Johnson didn't wear fake diamonds, she didn't see why she should marry a fake man. But while it was easy to enter a shop and buy diamond earrings or a necklace, she was at a loss when it came to the procedure to get the man she wanted. A man that was engaged and had no serious interest in her. She had to spark his interest, Emily decided, and eventually got up. She needed a gorgeous dress, intelligent things to say and an opportunity. Everything else would arise. At least she hoped so.

It was easy to find an opportunity. The beanpole provided her with the information that she and Richard would spend the next Saturday at the annual ball of the Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity at Yale. Emily knew that James was a member as well and thanks to the kiss it was easy to get an invitation to accompany him to the event.

It was easy to find a dress at well. Her mother always had been generous when it came to the garderobe of her daughters and she didn't even blink when Emily asked her to buy her an obscenely expensive robe whose light-blue material and cut did not only cajole her body and played well with her skin, eyes and Yale's colours, but the wide jewelled neckline alongside the diamond strap running around her chest below her breasts underlined her status and the fact that she was more than a good catch.

It was hard to find things to say to him. Actually Emily still had no idea what she would say to him when the day of the ball arrived. And with it a nervousness that mocked her well calculated plan. She would be able to look nice. But she wouldn't be able to say an intelligent thing. No matter how nice it all sounded in her head, she wouldn't be able to get through with it. Even if she'd bring up the courage to greet him, she never would bring up the courage to say more.

He was thunderstruck. She looked dashing, simply and drop-dead gorgeous. Curls played around her beautiful face and with the dress, tight at the breasts it tapered off in a promising sea of blue silk floating around her waist and legs, she looked like a Greek goddess. Despite the fact that Pennilyn was standing next to him, Richard had trouble taking his eyes off Emily and eventually their eyes met. She smiled. A shy smile, shy and warm and his heart jumped before he eventually forced himself to look away. He avoided searching for her in the crowd during the next hours, still he felt her view resting on him every now and then and he wondered why she obviously was searching his gaze, although she was here with another man. It thrilled him that she did however and when she slipped out of the ballroom, he followed her silently.

Emily was standing at the spacious patio of the building, presenting him her back that was covered with the silk material, diamonds glittering on her skin. He didn't even try to resist touching her and she startled.

"Richard!", she exclaimed, despite she'd hoped he'd follow her. "You scared me half to death."

"That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to -", he paused. "Hello, Emily", he smiled.

"Hello", she replied and looked at him, a brief glance with slightly blushed cheeks that encouraged and intimidated him at the same time.

He slowly moved his hand from her back over her naked arm. Her skin felt soft and warm. It felt even better than it looked. "You're here with James?", he said, a rhetorical question.

Emily didn't move, although the touch was inappropriate. She didn't move as she liked the warm and prickling trace his fingers left on her skin. Besides it was good sign, she told herself to calm her crying out modesty, he's physically attracted at last. The dress apparently performed its task.

"He's a nice guy. Good breeding and a marvellous reputation. He'll care for his wife and family", Richard continued as she remained speechless. "A good catch."

"I've no intentions to catch him", she forced herself to say, did it with a raucous voice while Richard kept drawing lines on her skin, tracing her shoulder bones and transforming her knees into gum.

"You don't say", he knew he should stop it, her skin activated his fingers however, her mind his. "What about Robert?", he added.

"You know we broke up", she stated slightly confused.

"_You_ broke up?"

"You know that as well", she acknowledged, her eyes fixing a point in the darkness.

"Despite it doesn't matter who you're with?"

Emily held her breath, a slight shake of her head.

"Because it matters who you're with?", Richard dug deeper. He had to know. He had to find out if there was really a calculating and cold mind behind all that beauty.

"Maybe", she confessed low. This was too much. She couldn't handle it and if she hadn't been frozen, still unable to move under his fingertips, she would've run away. She did in her mind and her body more and more felt like she was running in reality.

"What about me?"

She almost jumped, her heart did. "You?", she asked the darkness.

"Do you think I'm with the right person?", he continued to skate on thin ice, well-knowing that only parts of his brain worked and the rest had been knocked out bit by bit somewhere between their first meeting and now. Surprisingly he didn't care about that. He only cared about her answers.

"I hardly know Pennilyn. I can't tell", she paused. "There might be someone more suitable though", she forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Someone", he smiled and caressed her cheek.

This was it, she thought. He knew. He knew she had a thing for him. She had wanted him to know, but all of sudden she felt defenseless and committed. Emily swallowed. She took a step back and his fingers touched the air between them. "I -", she started, although she didn't know what to say. Hence she didn't finish the sentence, but stared at the ground and the toe-caps of his shoes. He had big feet, she realized randomly. Of course he had, she chastised herself, as he was a tall man. Tall. Strong. With enormous feet. "What's your size of shoe?", she asked and looked up with contracted brows.

"15½ ", he answered as if her question was the most natural thing for her to ask in this time and place. His tone didn't give away how adorable he found the question and inquirer in fact. "Yours?", he asked with a smile.

"8", she stated with a dry palatine, wrinkling her forehead some more. "Mine is 8. Everybody has an 8. The shoe stores are plundered by the masses with an 8", she kept talking. She knew it was nonsense, but if she stopped, he might walk away. It was nonsense, still she couldn't phrase it elsewise, hoping he'd understand. "I can't tell you how often I saw a pair I'd loved to have, but they weren't available in my size anymore. It took me months and many order forms to get the ones I'm wearing tonight. But they were worth the trouble. They fit perfectly and heaven knows how necessary it is to have shoes that fit your feet perfectly, if you don't want to cry with pain every time you wear them."

Richard laughed low and took a step forward. She sure had a thing for obscure and unorthodox metaphors. "I like your shoes", he played along and lifted her chin.

"Thank you", she smiled nervously, feeling her heart beating in her throat. "Your shoes are nice, too."

"I'm glad you like them", he laid his mouth on hers. She inhaled sharply upon the shock and pleasure of the first touch and closed her eyes, unable to reply the small kisses Richard put onto her lips first as she was too occupied with absorbing the moment and sensation. Being committed to him didn't feel bad anymore. It was all in his hands now, she was, and it lifted a weight off her shoulders. Emily thanked him by answering his kisses carefully and rested her hands on his chest after a while. There was another soft kiss on her lips, one on her right cheek then, the cheekbone and her closed lid.

She tasted like she smelled, he finally knew, soaking up the warm taste of orange blossoms and jasmine, powder and fresh laundered clothes. Emily wrapped her arms around his neck, getting up on her tiptoes and put her head on his shoulder to allow him better access to her neck which he started to explore. Somehow it felt like doing it for the first time, like kissing a woman for the first time in his life. Rapturously, Richard put a last kiss on her neck, one on her dark hair and laid his arms around her waist, holding her tight. He wanted to tell her so many things. But there weren't words and he was grateful for the game she had started. "My mother has special designs made for me of an Italian shoemaker", he hence whispered into her hair. "They're a pleasure to wear."

"One can see that they're of extraordinarily good quality", she answered and he felt her breath tickling on the collar of his shirt and neck. "A very special pair of shoes."

"They're perfect for me", Richard tightened his embrace and pushed Emily against the balustrade. Once more he searched her lips, eventually parting them without hesitation, allowing the passion and desire which took possession of his blood and mind to unfold.

"Don't stop", she heard herself whispering when he broke the kiss after what seemed to be an eternity and a blink only in once. The sound of her voice threw her back to reality. The thing she had said did. Before she felt it, she knew that blood was surging to her face and she removed her arms from his neck, putting them on his chest again while she put desistence from him. "I'm not one of the girls who kiss men just for amusement", she said, glad she had access to the firm voice again she had trained since she'd been a child.

He smiled weak. "I know that, Emily."

"So?", she looked at him, her eyes darkened with mirroring her mind and soul while her face slowly lost its colour and got it's usual aristocratic and secretive expression back.

"I'm engaged", he explained honest.

"I know _that_, Richard."

Her voice and eyes showed a self-evident assuming that he'd leave Pennilyn. This conviction surprised him. The power she had over him did even more. One kiss and he was about to throw his engagement away. And yet it was understood. "I need time", he said therefore. "I don't want people to talk. Not about Pennilyn. Not about you. Not about us. Nobody must know. Period."

"Alright", she folded her arms with a resolute nod.

"Good", he said and suppressed the cravings to kiss her once more. "We've been out here too long already. We should get back inside", his reasonable side eventually was dominating him for good.

"You're right", a light smile and a soft touch and squeeze on his arm, then she walked away and vanished inside, loping to the restroom. Emily pressed her back against the wood of the door after she had locked it. A deep breath and she closed her eyes, squealing with glee.

To be continued

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ATN: There you go. Finally. Happy ? ;) 


	17. Catch 22

**Catch 22**

Richard Gilmore decided to wait eleven days. He had no idea why, but eleven days seemed to be a good time span in between the kiss with Emily and breaking up with Pennilyn. Maybe he just wanted to have enough time to consider if he really was doing the right thing. He still loved Pennilyn. Sure, when his fiancée had been in Italy, he had continued to live his life without her. He had continued, he had met other women. Talked with them, laughed with them, kissed them, slept with them. But in the back of his mind, he had missed Pennilyn. He had dreamed of her and a common future. Hence, having her back had been a blast at first. It had been a blast until he had realized how much both had changed during their separation. Until he had realized that he wasn't able to forget Emily, no matter how hard he tried. He loved Pennilyn, but not in the way a man was supposed to love the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. Emily on the other hand - well, he couldn't prove that she was a better choice, still he just wanted to be with her - he had promised her to be with her. Just like he had promised Pennilyn. No matter what he did, it'd probably end up in a mess. Not only because of their feelings, but because of his family, the society. Breaking an engagement was something an honourable man never did. And he would do it. Heaven knew why, but a blue lap and a pair of dark eyes apparently were enough for him to defy conventions.

The strange behaviour of her fiancé concerned Pennilyn Lott. He hardly had called her during the last days, short calls it had been, short and distant, alongside the constant clarification that they really could meet today, on a weekday, despite he had to work the next day and she had classes. Now he was standing in her hall, there was no kiss hello, he did not tell her of his week like he usually did. Richard just stood there and silently stared at a painting on the wall.

"Is everything alright?", Pennilyn asked carefully.

Richard counted till three until he spoke. "We have to talk", he said.

We have to talk. This wasn't a good sentence, she thought. It wasn't a sentence a man like Richard Gilmore ever used. He did not talk. He acted. "Alright", she nodded and pointed into the living room, foreboding floating through her veins. "May I offer you a drink?"

"A scotch would be fine", he agreed, thankful that her suggestion allowed him to play for time.

"A scotch it is", Pennilyn poured him a glass and herself a martini. She handed him his drink and sat down. "Won't you -", she pointed at the free place next to her as he still stood in the middle of the room.

"Yes", he faked a smile and sat down on the couch opposite her. "You see", Richard nipped at his drink. He needed some more glasses to go through with this, he thought. A bottle at least to find the courage. He emptied the glass and got up again, getting himself another scotch, while he felt Pennilyn's look resting on his back. He could tell she was waiting for him to start, so he took another sip and turned around. "I've been thinking a lot during the last days. Actually, I've been thinking a lot during the last weeks", he paused and looked at her. Once she had been the prettiest woman on earth. Now her curled blonde hair, her features did not put him under a rapturous spell anymore. Her nose seemed to be too big somehow, her eyes too grey and lacklustre. The lips, those lips which used to appeal him had lost their attraction and so had the words that left them. "Are you happy, Pennilyn?", he asked, hoping she'd deny and the buck wouldn't be passed to him only in the end.

"Of course", she stated with a nervous laugh and a slight nod. "My study is going well. I've found new friends and old friends again. I have my family back. And I'm with a wonderful man."

"Am I?", he sighed a bit disappointed by her answer.

"I wouldn't have agreed to marry you, if you weren't."

Richard answered nothing, but emptied his second scotch.

"What is this all about, Richard?", Pennilyn demanded impatiently and more concerned than ever. By now, she knew where this probably was leading to and she couldn't believe it. They were perfect for each other after all. Richard was her man. The only man she wanted to be with.

"This is about us", he forced himself to say. "It's about the fact that we -", once more he paused. He wanted it to be quick and painless. But he owed her an explanation. Actually he owed her a wedding and marriage. "We've changed a lot during the last years. We changed while you were away. We aren't teenagers anymore, but grown-ups. And as grown-ups we've to account for our decisions. Marrying each other, spending the rest of our lives together is a grave decision. One I can't account for. Not being aware of the fact that we both evolved into different directions and will in the future", he decided to strike a fair balance between short and extensive. It sounded like he had learned the words by heart, an elementary school student rattling through a poem.

"Che sciocchezza!", she exclaimed angry and shocked, hit rock bottom, thousands of invectives laying on her tongue, running through her mind, a baffling potpourri of Italian and English, making no sense like he and his words made no sense. Nonsense, all nonsense. Pare impossibile. Never. Questo mai!

"Penn -"

"No!", she hissed. "This is nonsense. We're engaged not estranged. We haven't changed. At least not to our disadvantage."

"But to the disadvantage of our relationship. We're fighting constantly, we -"

"Are having disputes, not fights", she finished the sentence. "Every couple has them."

"After years of marriage maybe, but not daily. Not before we even exchanged the rings. How will we be fighting in some years?"

"So what? Since when are you a coward, running away as soon things are getting a bit complicated?"

Richard swallowed upon the insult. "So you're admitting that things between us are everything but smooth?", he concentrated on the crux.

"No. Yes", she stammered with a knot in her throat. "Maybe. Of course we've to get used to each other again", she admitted, regretting it the moment she did. "Still, it's no reason to run away", she repeated, realizing that there must be more than just some meaningless fights. He was no coward after all. Richard Gilmore was anything but a coward, that's why she loved him.

"I'm not running away", he denied. "I'm just being reasonable."

"And which woman told you to be reasonable?", she snorted bitter.

"This is ridiculous", he disavowed the reproach. "Nobody told me to be or do that, but my reason."

"I've known you for years, Richard", she exclaimed, the angriness slowly replaced every other feeling. "I know you better than anybody else. You never would do that, you never would jeopardize this, if there weren't another -"

"Stop it!", he shouted. "Stop it", he added lower. "Lynnie, please. Can't we just discuss this reasonably and calmly?"

"I can't discuss such bollocks reasonably", she answered and they stared at each other motionless, he still standing in front of the bar, she sitting on the couch, her body leaned forward a bit, her fingers clutching the glass.

"There'll be someone more suitable for you", Richard stated after some minutes. He never had felt more helpless in his entire life.

"What a stereotype to say", she murmured.

"I'm s-"

"Don't say that. Don't say you're sorry. Otherwise I never would be able to respect you again."

"But I am, Lynnie. I am sorry. Still it's better to end it now."

"You had better go now", she called on him with held breath.

"Lynnie, please", he practically begged her not to be mad.

"Goodbye, Richard", she got up and vanished into her bedroom, the loud bang of the door which made the glasses on the shelf and in the window frames shiver, was her last statement upon this.

"I'm really sorry", were Richard's last words. Then he put his glass onto the table and left her flat silently.

After the talk with Pennilyn, all Richard longed for was a bottle of scotch, a good LP, some classical music, jazz maybe, and his armchair. Yet, he had to talk to his parents first, his mother. Therefore, he drove to Hartford directly. The maid led him into the living room and Lorelai Gilmore looked at him with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"Richard", she said and he knew the talk with Pennilyn had been a cakewalk compared to what would come.

"Pennilyn and I separated", he said without wasting a second and his mother's face turned into stone.

"May I ask what led you to this unacceptable decision?", she raised a brow.

Richard sighed. "My mind", he told his mother the half-truth. "Pennilyn and I are too different."

"Nonsense", Lorelai rumbled. She couldn't believe that her only son acted in such an inappropriate way; neither did she believe a word he said. "Pennilyn and you are the perfect match. She'd be a wonderful wife. She _will_ be a wonderful wife."

"For somebody else", he stated contritely.

"For you", she pointed at him. "Moreover, you gave her a promise. An honourable man doesn't break his promises, especially not those he gave a young lady. I expect you to fix this, Richard."

"I already fixed what had to be fixed."

"Richard Gilmore!", Lorelai admonished her son sharply. "I won't hear any of this. You'll go to Pennilyn. You'll apologize. You'll marry her. I'm not accepting any opposition on this matter, do I make myself clear?"

"You do, mother", he answered low. His mother was right. Moreover she was his mother. And if it hadn't annoyed him that she treated him like a little boy and not the grown-up man he was, he probably would've obeyed. "But as much as I respect your opinions and advice, I'm afraid we disagree on this matter."

Lorelai winced. She wasn't used to this. Her son never disagreed. "This wasn't advice, Richard", she reminded him of the fact that she was still his mother and he the son, over her dead body only she'd allow the slighted scratching at this god-given balance of power.

"And this is nothing I'm going to discuss any further", he told her.

"Alright", there was a loud clap of her hands. "I would've preferred not to do so, still I feel impelled to call your father in", she turned around and walked towards the stairs to get her husband, who was already lying in bed. "Sit down", she told Richard before she vanished with resolute steps.

Richard did as he was told, taxing his brain over the situation until his parents entered the room. His father was wearing a morning gown, looking tired and confused, while his mother's face reflected disapproval and disgrace upon him.

"Richard", Charles Gilmore droned with his deep bass. "You're mother told me about this displeasing incident and I agree with her: this is unacceptable. Still, I'd like to hear your motives."

"He has no motives, Charles", Lorelai disagreed, annoyed that her husband considered to discuss the topic, instead of putting their son into his place right away.

"Lorelai", her husband answered and sat down. "Why don't you get yourself a cup of tea?"

"I've no need for tea", she sat down as well.

Charles wrinkled his forehead, but decided to let her have her way. "I always thought I've conceived and raised an intelligent son who knows what behoves to do. So - what led you to this rather stupid decision?"

"Charles!, Lorelai protested.

"It's alright, mother", Richard waved aside. "It's not a stupid decision, but the best I could make under the given circumstances."

"And what are those given circumstances?"

"Incompatibility."

"Nonsense", Lorelai hissed and Richard felt the urgent need to scream upon today's stressing of the word. The mistrust in his decision-making ability detested him. "Pennilyn and you are the perfect match", his mother stated furthermore.

"I already told you -"

She interrupted him. "You told me nothing acceptable. Nothing that would legitimatize your irresponsible acting."

"I can answer for it", he disagreed. "And I'm the only one who has to answer for my acting and future."

"You're blackening the name of the Gilmore family! How do you call this responsible?"

"Lorelai, you really should get yourself that cup of tea, now", Charles called upon Lorelai as he had enough of this fruitless dispute and his wife's enraged and shrill voice rang in his ears.

"I -", she started and Charles gave her an unambiguous look. "Of course", she forced herself to smile and did what her husband had asked her to. She loathed this kind of balance of power.

"And you should stop talking in meaningless phrases", Charles demanded, looking at his son. "I won't hear this dribble-drabble anymore, but the true motives."

"I already told you my true motives", Richard affirmed. "A marriage between Pennilyn Lott and I wouldn't go well. And a broken engagement is nothing compared to the harm a divorce would do to the Gilmore name."

"I see", he nodded. "But you have to see as well that you promised that girl to marry her. Maybe she isn't your queen of hearts, but sometimes a man has to put aside his own interests in order to do the right thing. I'm no expert like your mother, but if she says Pennilyn is a suitable partner and wife, she'll be right. Women know the marriage-business back to front after all", he smiled encouraging. "You're a Gilmore", he added. "You'll do the right thing and we both know there's only one right thing to do."

"Father", Richard sighed, unable to add something.

His shortness on words raised Charles Gilmore's suspicion. "Of course, it'd be a different thing, if you**_ had_** to marry another girl."

It took Richard a few moments to understand his father's allusion. "No", he shook his head. "I'm afraid we can't do a thing then now."

"You can't do a thing, right", Richard stated. He had a headache and no idea why he was doing this anymore. "Just like I won't marry Pennilyn. Of course it's up to you to draw conclusions, just like I'll bear the consequences. But I won't marry Pennilyn."

Charles sighed. Somehow he admired his son. He hadn't had the stamina to reject his father's order 29 year's ago. "Alright", he hence said and got up. "I'll check with your mother."

"Thank you, father", Richard smiled surprised and relieved.

"Don't waste your time thanking me", Charles said while leaving the room. "But better invest it in praying that you won't regret this decision and survive the foreseeable grudge of your mother and the gossip without further harm."

Richard could live with the gossip, just as he knew he wouldn't regret the decision. But being on bad terms with his mother rankled him. While he respected his father for his status, work and life from a distance, his mother always had been his guide. She had raised him, giving him soup when he had a cold, giving him a book when he had been bored. Lorelai Gilmore always had cared for his body and soul and he loved and respected her for that. He owed her so much for that. And now he disappointed his mother in such an inexcusable and ungraceful way.

When Richard eventually was in Edmeston and his flat again, his headache almost killed him and he wished he hadn't given in his feelings, but done the right thing. It was too late however. The dice had been thrown and now he had to sit his mother's displeasure out. And in the end, he tried to convince himself, as soon as she would meet Emily, Lorelai would see that she was the best for him and his mother always had wanted his best.

Emily. The thought of her made him feel lonely suddenly. Richard hadn't seen her since the ball and her kisses and smell, her body, face and voice seemed to be a surreal shadow only. Of course they wouldn't be able to meet for a while, not as long as the break-up with Pennilyn would be a current topic, he knew that. But a phone call wouldn't hurt, he decided, a phone call at least.

To be continued

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ATN: Long time no see, he? ;) I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter, just like I know I'll enjoy your reviews. So push that cute, little "submit review" button, he must've felt lonely and useless during the last days… umm… cough … weeks…. cough without update.

Thanks to Mel and a very belated **Happy, Happy Birthday**!


	18. My Fair Steak

**My Fair Steak**

Do you have a car? No, she replied. But I can organize one, had followed in the blink of an eye. Good, he had said. I have to see you. Tonight, he had added and told her where to go to, what to do, the exact time. It had been a short phone call in the dawn. Shorter than the usual ones and at an unusual time. Usually he called her in the evenings, never mentioning his name first as if someone could scan their phones like in a cloak-and-dagger movie or novel. And then Melinda always could be the one to pick up the phone first. It was depressing and thrilling at the same time. He preferred Russian names. The one of authors and poets. Anton and Leo. Fjodor. Alexander. Michail. Nikolai and Maxim. Sometimes he'd use the one of painters, one day Vincent, then Pablo, the other day Baldwin and she had rolled her eyes and laughed. She'd beat around the phone from half past eight on and if he hadn't called until half past nine, she was smashed and saw his dead body lying on the roadside as it was the only explanation she could come up with for the failure of not calling her in time. But she always forgot the madness upon his jog trot that followed her turbulence as soon as he started to talk. She loved how he talked, the things he said or joked about, those they discussed and he explained to her - nothing she thought sometimes, there was nothing he did not know - the way he could make her feel relaxed and giddy or ruminative and serious with the topics he brought up. Everything, just every topic he decided to talk about seemed to be talk-worthy, interesting and deep and even if it was an usual topic like the parking situation at his company or the dessert he didn't eat Tuesday evening, he'd turn it into a breath-taking thriller or a comedy that made her laugh tears.

Emily Johnson loved those phone talks. Yet, she wanted to see him so badly. She wanted the opportunity to look into his face while he talked. She wanted to look at his lips, into his eyes. She wanted to see how the fine lines around his eyes wrinkled with amusement whenever she managed to say something that made him laugh. The most she wanted was to touch him. She wanted him to kiss her again the way he had kissed her on the patio. She wanted to recreate this moment. The feeling of being so desired and safe. This perfect feeling.

Hence, she had organized a car and now was nervously sitting in a theatre in Schenectady, scanning the audience which fortunately didn't contain a person she knew. The newsreel had already started and there was no sign of him yet. Two tickets, he had told her, buy two of them, I'll grab the free place. The place was still free. Emily saw an oak lying on his car, enormous limbs gouged through his throat and left eye. The picture made her feel sick and the pictures of Kennedy sinking down in the black Lincoln Cabriolet did not help to ease her. Jimmy Hoffa, Richard had told her some days ago when the first articles on the first anniversary of Kennedy's death had been published, Jimmy Hoffa and the mafia. Emily fancied other conspiracy theories. They had talked about a lot of conspiracy theories that night and into the morning hours. Both had a soft spot for them, although Richard hadn't said a useful thing, but joked when she had asked him about fraternities, Alpha Epsilon Pi, Scroll and Key and Emily wasn't quiet sure if he had joked because there was nothing or joked to cover up. It gave him a mysterious touch that made her adore him even more.

She adored the coat Jackie Kennedy was wearing on the footage, Emily concentrated on the screen again, the colour. The hat looked ridiculous though. A change in style for the former First Lady. Hats were a ticklish issue anyways. The right one made you look like a peers, the wrong one like a jester. Jesters. Tragic personalities actually. Emily thought about the tragedy of losing a child and a husband within three months. Of having lost two children and a husband. For the first time she truly admired the strength of Jacqueline Kennedy, the apparently unlimited strength that made her still go on instead of burying herself alive. Emily saw Richard's car again. This time it was in flame and he a screaming torch. Her stomach churned.

"Sorry", she heard a familiar voice and a disquietingly wave of movement went through the people sitting next to her, while she felt relief and anger as always. She should learn to control her overactive imagination, really. "Sorry", she heard him whisper some more times until he sat down next to her, needing an eternity to get out of his coat, eventually throwing it over the armrest between their chairs. If it hadn't been him, she had protested upon this brazen occupation of her sitting space. But it was him, so she kept her mouth shut, hardly trying to act as if she didn't even realize what was going on next to her, forgetting about anything she ever had learned about manners, when she felt his hand searching for hers under the cover of his coat. There was a squeeze, strong and warm, then he wrapped his fingers into hers. For a second she closed her eyes, still denying herself to look into his direction. Actually she didn't during the entire movie, a movie whose name she had already forgotten the moment she bought the tickets as Richard had told her to. (Years later and until the end, they had various fights on it. _My Fair Lady, _he said, I picked it because you have a thing for musicals. _Marnie _it was,said she, you picked it because you have a thing for Tippi Hedren.)

Richard peeped at her every now and then, admiring her profile. He enjoyed it whenever Emily's grasp got a little bit tighter when the happenings on the screen became more enthralling (_Dead Ringer_, for the record) and answered it with soft squeezes, running his thumb over the back of her hand. Squeezes only, soft circles, despite the fact that he would love to just lean over and kiss her. But it was too dangerous. The Hartford society was gossiping nonstop, his mother didn't stop rumbling. He was so sick of it, unbelievably tired and by now he had serious doubts it ever would stop. Therefore, he had decided to take the risk and see Emily. This way, in a theatre, just sitting next to each other in the dark - well, even if somebody saw them, nobody would be able to tell if it'd been more than a coincidence and simultaneously he had a chance to be a little physically close to her at last. Just for this one time, he had thought after waking up out of a blurry dream that morning, just some hours otherwise he'd go stark raving mad.

The movie was over before Emily had realized it'd started. She blinked at the screen which turned white with the flash of the lights, while the people around them hastily got up. She waited a while, unwilling to leave the place and Richard, until she rose as well, slowly running her fingers over his hand before she broke the touch. For a second she was irritated that he did not help her into her coat, but then she remembered and proceeded herself. Her look was lowered as if she was concentrating on the buttons she closed, but actually she was looking at Richard. She had forgotten how blue his eyes were, she thought and smiled because he smiled at her too and there was nothing else to do. He got up the moment she made the first step and their bodies touched. Instead of doing the polite thing and granting the lady to go ahead, he made no attempts to make room and she had to jostle past him. She did it with a pleasure that surprised her, pausing a brief moment when he laid a hand on her right hip, eventually running it over her side and thigh while directing her next to him. Emily was tempted to say something, at least a Good-Bye, but her tongue was heavy as iron. Therefore, she looked up a moment, another smile before she fastened her steps and walked towards the exit.

They replayed three days later in Voorheesville (one more time, Richard decided, it won't hurt, it can't. Not if he stayed careful and cool-headed) with the same procedure of him sneaking into the auditorium during the newsreel, throwing his coat over the armrest and taking her hand, the break of the touch as soon as the movie was over and Richard obstructing Emily passage. Two days later in Gloversville it was the same game. At least for the beginning. Somewhere during the lynching scene of _Zorba the Greek_ Richard laid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. First she stiffened and he could tell Emily's eyes wandered around in the room to make sure no one watched closely - just like his had some seconds ago and before he had dared to lay his arm around her (a calculated risk, not even a real one. The people looked at the screen, people he didn't know). No one watched, Emily noted relieved as well and shyly put her head on his shoulder, grasping his left arm with hers without letting go of his fingers. As nice has holding hands was, this was better. It felt better, it felt good. He felt good. Soft and strong, safe and warm and Emily closed her eyes after a while, lulled in by the voices from the screen and his closeness.

After the last scene they parted hastily nevertheless. After all they could've overlooked an acquaintance until now or the acquaintance them. Hasty partings. Sometimes Richard thought it was the title of his current period of life. He met Emily just to go again, to go without really being satisfied by the meeting. It was like eating starters for weeks. Delicious noshes, creamy soups and exotic salads. Richard wanted a steak. A steak and potatoes, heavy sauces and red wine. But instead of getting himself what he wanted, he did dusty society rules bidding. He was annoyed by this milquetoast thinking. After all he preferred to see himself as someone who never spared any risk to get what he wanted. Moreover milquetoasts surely weren't on the top list of desirable men.

Just like Emily loved their phone talks, she loved their meetings in theatre. She loved the moment Richard put his arm around her and pulled her close, the moment the one hundred strangers around them mysteriously vanished and there were only the two of them. Still when Richard tried to kiss her during _The Best Man, _she softly shook her head, all of sudden remembering the public place too well. After the movie ended however, Emily grabbed her purse and fished for her lipstick and pocket mirror. She didn't want to leave the theatre like she usually did. Usually. Usually she never redid her make-up in public, only scrubbers did that. But then scrubbers only had secret meetings and physical contact with men in dark places. Redoing her lipstick in public hardly would be a nail in the coffin of her education hence. She used the mirror to peep at Richard. Despite he couldn't be considered a good-looking man per se, there was this aura around him that put her under an unreal spell and delimited her reason. Surprisingly, she liked that feeling. She liked him. And more.

Richard couldn't decide whether to feel glad or not about Emily plying with a lipstick and pocket mirror until everyone had left the auditorium. Actually it was fascinating to observe how she applied the colour, giving away practice and elevated concentration, while he pretended to search his keys in the pockets of his coat. As soon as the last person had left the room, the implements vanished in her purse and Richard put his coat away. They were finally alone. Only them and a blackberry coloured glow on her lips.

"Emily", he was the first one to utter a word and she looked at him, a shy smile playing around her lips. No dimly light of the screen cast a cloud over her face, no movements while she got into her coat and pushed past him. She just sat there and looked at him with this smile. Richard's mind absorbed the picture.

"Hey", she said, the smile grew.

Richard laughed low and brought a hand to her cheek. "Hey", he said too. "Liked the movie?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders. "There are other things I like more."

"You do?", he asked hopefully. They never talked about themselves. Books and movies, yes. Literature, paintings, food and countries. Some policy every now and then, headlines and the feature. His job and her studies. Other people. Never themselves or their feelings. For her it was just given, he sometimes felt, wondering what exactly was given. She was so reserved. Sure, he highly appreciated she didn't expect soul strips or performed them herself. Yet a lead, a compass would've been nice every now and then. But then he would marry her anyhow and it probably only bothered him that - unlike Pennilyn - Emily was mainly a closed book for him.

"Yes", she ran two fingers over the revers of his sack coat.

"Am I on that list?", he leaned forward, gravitated to her red lips.

"Maybe", Emily whispered against his mouth, enjoying his obvious desire and the touch she had waited for so long. His breeziness took her by surprise though as he didn't waste a second on searching her lips and playing around them, but parted them right away, practically hauling the breath out of her lungs. Emily dropped back under his tempestuous kiss and the armrest beard painfully against her back. Eventually she rested her hands on his chest and pushed him aside while she mumbled something like an "Mmhhh".

Richard looked at her with sulking surprise as Emily manoeuvred herself into an upright position again. "Being impaled by an armrest is definitely not on the list", she explained playfully and laid her arms around his neck. She ran her fingers over his hair line, the tip of her nose grazed his as she performed this other violation of the rules she'd been taught.

"On mine neither", he said and kissed her again, this time starting a bit gentler, still not holding up with caresses for too long. A collected amount of 13 and a half hours just holding hands and embracing her were caresses enough, he felt. Moreover, the time they had was too short to do all the things he longed to do with her. Kissing was just fine for now. One just had to kiss a woman who looked and smelled like Emily. Who kissed like her. Not at all like an inexperienced category two girl, he later thought under the shower, wondering if it had been a good idea to insist that they'd continue their lives like before, including dating, wondering how far she went to keep up appearances.

The only thing Emily did to keep up appearances was to meet other on a regular basis. She met them because Richard had told her to do so. Even if the dates hadn't annoyed and exhausted her anyways, now they were an unpleasant farce even more. One dated to meet a proper husband. She had found Richard already. The time with other men was a waste of time therefore. Time she could've used for other, more pleasant things like shopping or reading, she hadn't spent an amusing afternoon with her friends since summer, hadn't touched a piano since an eternity. There were many activities coming to her mind whenever she thought about the subject, although none of them was as pleasant as spending time with Richard like she did now. Kissing him like she did now, recreating this perfect moment on the patio over and over again, no matter if it beseemed or not.

They didn't hear the steps or the harrumphing of the usher. At least not the first three raspy and slime throaty noises he made. The fourth one would've been for nothing as well, if Emily hadn't suddenly noticed the obtrusive smell of cigar smoke. She opened her eyes just in time for the fourth hemming and gasped for breath, a small shriek leaving her lips while she did.

"We're closing", the usher said with a grin, checking out the couple. Probably married he thought. Definitely not to each other. Married couples wearing pearls and ties never made up in theatre. Some petting in theatre, a hot quickie in a motel. To be young again.

"Great", Emily hissed at Richard with held breath. "How inconspicuous is that?"

"I'll check with him", he calmed her, amused about her furious reaction, although it was a ticklish situation. She pulled an uncomfortable face and Richard got up. "Why don't you go and have a nice closing time beer?", he asked the usher and Emily watched the scene with an uncomfortable knock in her temples.

"There's no closing time until the theatre is closed. Closed like empty", he explained, sending circles of smoke into Richard's direction. The guy smelled like money and remorse. The perfect claim. "Besides my wife is waiting", he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I've been in the mood for a nice ride for hours", he laughed and patted Richard's back, brothers in flesh. Not that he laid his wife. Not that he had one. Why be pussy whipped by a woman, if he - when in need – could have the pussy for twenty bucks an hour, the mouth for half? "You god damn know what I mean, buddy, don't ya?"

Richard knew too well. He decided to ignore. "Alexander Hamilton will help you to get over the pain of -", he paused. " - parting", he finished and gave the usher a ten dollar bill.

"In the company of Jackson, he sure will", his counterpart grinned and winked at Emily, who hastily looked away.

"I see", Richard grabbed another bill out of his trouser pocket. "You have a definitive knowledge of the American history and its celebrity characters."

Observing the bill he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a fast drinker", he stated after he had checked its authenticity and put the money into his pocket. "Fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Steve", Richard read his name from the label on his chest and nodded. "My respects to your wife."

Steve snickered. "I'm not married", he waved good-bye, already presenting Richard his back, then he vanished behind a door.

"I can't believe you did that", Emily exclaimed with glittering eyes. "Bribing an old man."

"I did not bribe him", Richard strolled back to her. "I kindly brought him a pleasant evening with some pints" (and the local alley cat, he added in thought) "in exchange for fifteen minutes with the local beauty."

"You'll meet the local beauty afterwards?"

Richard grinned. "Depends on how things with you will go", he started to kiss her again and things went better than he'd thought they would. At least up to a certain point.

"It will be Christmas soon", Emily suddenly whispered in between two kisses, a thought that caught her off-guard in this moment, but engaged her since days.

"I know", he stated confused and they parted.

"New Year's Eve. My birthday", she continued.

"Your birthday."

"I want you to be there, Richard", she asked him. Her heart and chest contracted as she did. "It's my twenty-first after all."

Her twenty-first birthday. Richard wanted to be there. Her birthday. New Year's Eve. Christmas Eve and all the days in between, before and afterwards. He wanted to spend them with her. "It's too soon, Emily", he still staid reasonable. There was a difference between being seen by strangers and a money-mad usher and being seen by people they knew. A derogatory difference to their later relationship and life. She had to see and understand that.

"I'll give you the guest list", she ignored the objection however. She had thought about it already. She had a plan. "The names of the female singles will be marked alongside a list of places where you easily can meet them. It shouldn't be a problem for you to get a date with one of them. Lucinda Lester for example would be forever grateful to have a date with a man like you. Poor thing looks like a walrus and her ken shouldn't be much bigger."

"Lucinda Lester", he repeated doubtfully, hiding how flattered he was by the "man like you".

"You're dating anyways, so why not her, if it gives us the opportunity to see each other at my birthday?"

"You're dating too", he replied as there was reproach laying in her voice.

"Because you told me so, Richard."

"Because nobody is supposed to be suspecting."

"So date Lucinda at my birthday and nobody will suspect why you're there."

Richard sighed, fighting a silent fight with himself. "Alright", he agreed after a while and Emily's smile wiped off the last doubts he had. "Alright", he repeated and Emily nodded gracefully.

"Four more minutes", she looked at her watch and the happy smile turned into an inviting one alongside the raise of a brow.

Four more minutes. It was a small steak this one, Richard thought, he should've introduced Steve to Ulysses Grant. He left hungry.

To be continued

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ATN: Sorry for the delay, but after the chapter finally was written, Mel proofread and it was ready for posting, ff acted crazy for days. Sighs. Whatever. Here it finally is. Hope you'll enjoy it. 

Thanks to marvellous Mel, thanks to everyone who reviewed for the great feedback!


	19. Merry Boxing Day

**Merry Boxing Day**

Despite their rational sides, the Gilmores celebrated Christmas with all the associated ballyhoo and found a ludicrous pleasure in making gifts. The house was brightly decorated in the inside and illuminated tastefully from the outside. The mountain of beautifully packed presents under the Christmas tree grew constantly from the first Sunday in Advent when the impressive fir was put up. It was decorated with Christmas tree decorations accumulated by generations of Gilmores. Some crystal ornaments even had been embarked on the ship that brought the ancestors of the family from England to the New World in the 17th Century.

A second cook was hired for the holidays, in order to help the first cook with the preparation of the feasts which were served. An opulent twelve course meal for friends, acquaintances and colleagues usually opened the Christmas Dinner Season two Fridays before Christmas Eve, followed by daily dinners with guests and a family celebration in the inner circle on Christmas Eve, one for all the hosts of Gilmores alive and breathing on Christmas Day. On Boxing Day the Gilmores eventually found the time to deal with the presents and sort them out.

When Richard had been a boy he had loved Boxing Day the most, just as he had hated it the most. He had loved it for the opportunity to play with the new model railroad, the neat tin soldiers with their tiny rifles and cannons which even were able to shy small cannonballs through the air of his nursery and to assemble the models of historic ships, planes and cars which occupied him for weeks and put him in front of the point of principle if to stay up all night to work on a scale copy of the _Mayflower_ or Lindbergh's _Spirit of St. Louis_ or to browse in one of his new books. He hated Boxing Day however, because Lorelai Gilmore always made him chose three presents that she'd donated to the local orphanage of Hartford alongside masses of cookies, fruits and nuts and an imposing cheque. Now, as a grown man, he understood his mother's motives and admired her for the cleverness and goodness behind them, but 8-year-old Richard, deprived of a British tin cavalry he desperately needed for the war going on in his room, a magnificent leather football and complete edition of Mark Twain's works, had cried silent and bashful tears under his blanket. They hadn't run dry until his grandmother had brought him a piece of warm apple pie with whipped cream and her old first edition of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ as a lifetime loan. After the comforting consumption of the pie, Richard had started to read it with fingers still sticky from the sweet apples and sugar and dozed off happy again over Chapter 3. Today he regretted his childish thoughtlessness which had left gleaming stains on the thin pages and belittled the value of the book significantly. But then he never would've sold it anyway and the imaginary smell of cream and pie the book gave off whenever he opened it made him remember his grandmother who'd died seven months after Richard's Christmassy flood of tears.

Emily Johnson's edition of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ which she had gotten on Christmas 1953 was still in an excellent condition. Even as a child she never would've been thoughtless enough to touch a book with sticky fingers, just like she never ruined a dress while playing. Actually the Johnson girls never played as the schedule their mother had set up didn't leave free time for idleness. Therefore Emily and Henriette never got tin soldiers or footballs for Christmas or as it would've been more fitting for girls: dolls and skates. They got new dresses and shoes, notes for their musical education, books for their general education. And they got masses of silverware, china and fine linen, bedclothes with lace from Brussels and hand embroidered table cloths for their dowry, which were carefully stowed in oak chests on the attic alongside the paintings Baldwin Johnson presented his daughters annually. Hence they never had to share their presents with orphans, yet they always went to the orphanage of Albany with their mother on December 24th. They had tea with the director, an overweight and red-faced man called Jack Fittingham in custom-made suits who had more hairs in his fat fingers than on his head, while he probably planned his next vacation trip to the Bahamas with the money Lillian Johnson had donated to the institution for a new playground and clothes for the children. She did every year, just like the playground got more weathered from year to year (building codes, the director sighed, a true maze, almost insuperable) and the clothes of the kids more patchy (they're so wild, the director sighed even louder, ripping all the beautiful new dresses at fences and shrubberies) and the older Emily grew the more she loathed the fat man behind his luxury desk. A desk he'd probably bought instead of using the collected money of the _Country Women's Association_ to exchange the flea and bug afflicted mattresses against new ones after a vermin epidemic last spring. The first Christmas she'd be married, Emily had announced when she was 11, she'd sent a group of construction worker's and an accountant to the orphanage instead of having tea with the thick thief and handing him a cheque. Her mother had told how underbred it was to allege that a righteous man had dishonest motives, especially on Christmas and despite (_because _as Lillian argued) her promise to sent Director Fittingham a Christmas Card to jail until the rats had devoured him clean (but then even greedy creatures like them wouldn't touch the masses of white and pure fat, she had added silent), Emily was grounded for three weeks (there was no difference) and her 12th birthday party cancelled (shame, burning shame). If the whole incident taught her something, it was to keep her mouth shut. She never pointed out again what a scammer Fittingham was. She never stopped believing it. One day, as soon as she'd be able to, she'd make sure he wouldn't keep his desk, not to talk of trips to the Bahamas and custom-made suits. Just as much sense Emily Johnson had for luxury, she had a distinctive sense for justice too. And mulcting people of what they were entitled to just didn't go well with it. May it be birthday parties or playgrounds. One day Director Fittingham would pay for both.

Your time is almost up. Emily Johnson had problems to not utter the thought when Fittingham shook her hand with his sweaty and meaty paw after this year's attendance of the Johnson women. She was unusual grumpy for this time of the year anyhow as she hadn't heard a word from Richard for three days and the temptation to take it out on Fittingham big. Yet she smiled, curtsied and wished him a "Merry Christmas" instead of a merry trip to hell. "I'm looking forward to our teatime next year", she added with her sweetest smile. Next year. Oh yes. Teatime with rats, Uncle Fittingham, you might want to slim until then, otherwise your cellmates might use you as football. Just like she'd use Richard as football, if he didn't touch base with her soon. Silently she gnashed her teeth.

Emily Johnson gnashed her teeth even more when she saw two well-known shadows passing them in front of the orphanage.

"Henriette", she linked arms with her sister. "What about a nice cup of hot chocolate and some pie?", Emily looked at their mother and put on another smile out of her repertoire. The _Mommy may we_-smile (Not that she'd ever dared to call her mother _Mommy_). "If you can do without us for an hour or two", she said.

Despite Lillian Johnson really could've needed her daughters to deal with the personnel running through their mansion and probably messed up, the smile performed its task, especially as Henriette had put it up as well. "You'll be home for dinner", she demanded. "And don't spoil your appetite with too much sugared pastries."

"Yes, mother", Henriette nodded, the suppliant smile was replaced by a happy one.

"Especially you with your weight problems should keep your fingers off any sweets, Henriette", Lillian reminded her and walked off.

Her mother's remark offended her. "I'm not having any weight problems", Henriette grumbled while she followed her elder sister, who'd pulled her away from their position in front of the orphanage. "I'm just growing. _Everything_ is growing", she corrected Lillian Johnson's obstinate concealment of facts that she grew weight because her body grew into he one of a woman.

"Ah ha", Emily scanned the streets distracted. Walking arm in arm. He was supposed to date her, maybe to pretend as if he liked her, but definitely not to touch her as if he liked her.

"I even had to fix my green dress with a safety pin the other day and wear a jacket, because I couldn't zip it up. Neither could I close the jacket", her words teemed with sarcasm and forwardness. She couldn't dress her concern elsewise, just like her mother apparently couldn't dress her daughter. "But she keeps buying me clothes in my old size. I'm never going to fit into the one, she bought me for tomorrow. I'm going to blow the silk. The stitching will never bear up against _them_."

Feeling up Lucinda Lester's hairy arm. "Them?" How poor. Poor. Poor. Poor.

Henriette stopped. "Them", she theatrically pointed at her breasts in a rather ordinary way and waking up Emily hastily grabbed her wrists and pulled them down.

"Hopie!", she exclaimed. "This is really not a topic to be discussed on the street! Especially not in such an inappropriate way."

"Stop calling me Hopie and treating me as if I was a child", her younger sister pulled a face. "I'm not and _they_ are proving it."

"Just because your, your -", she stumbled over the word. "They", she decided to stay in Henriette's jargon. "Are growing, your brain doesn't. Your attitude actually proves that black is white in your case."

"You're only jealous, because mine are just as bi-", she tried to counter, but Emily interrupted her.

"The middle of the street, for heaven's sake", she hissed, took Henriette's hand rather rough and proceeded to chase two shadows whose sight she already had lost thanks to Hopie's interleaves about the female anatomy.

Henriette had no intentions to let the topic go however, especially as she hadn't what she wanted yet. "It's not only about the dresses and mother", she got clearer and decided to let go of the teasing of her sister to put her in a better mood. "Or a competition between us, I'll win all too soon."

Emily rolled her eyes. She never should've taken Hopie with her. She never should've allowed Richard to date Lucinda Lester.

"Emily", Hopie called out and Emily was ready to shoot until she saw her sisters face.

"Hopie", she sighed.

"Don't call me that."

"Henriette", she corrected. "I promise you, I _swear_ we'll discuss this topic later. But right now, I've more important things to do."

"How can hot chocolate and pie be important compared to my problems? Mother doesn't listen, you don't listen. Nobody listens."

"It is, well -", another sigh. "Alright", she pushed Hopie into a back road, knowing too well she probably lost the trace for good. "Alright", she repeated, touching her left temple and looked at the dirty snow on the cobblestone. She smelled urine and wet dog. "I'm listening."

"Good", Henriette folded her arms, but didn't say a further thing. With her anger about the ignorance gone, she was too embarrassed all of sudden, even if it was Emily.

"I see you lost your voice. That's really a problem", she teased to paper over her own awkwardness. At least the comment annoyed Henriette enough to make her explode and find her voice again.

"The problem is that mother treats me like a child. She simply ignores that I'm not twelve anymore. I'm not looking like it anymore. But she ignores it."

"I know", Emily tried to smile. "Has she - did you have the talk with the midwife already?", most of all she wanted the ground to swallow her up.

"Yes", she bit her lip with a slight nod.

Emily was relieved. At least Henriette knew the general principles. This really shouldn't be her funeral though. "Good", her smile was frozen by now. "Because I - I really don't know what I'm supposed to tell you, Hopie", she confessed.

"You're not supposed to tell me anything about it. I just. You just have to help me with something", she made a vague gesture.

"Something….?"

"I need…", another gesture. "A thing."

Emily wrinkled her forehead unable to follow her sister. "A thing?"

"For….", she made a shirty noise with her throat, another gesture that equalled the one on the main road. "Them", she whispered.

"Oh", scales fell from her eyes. "I'll tell mother -"

"No!", Henriette interrupted her horrified. "She's going to send Aunt Felicity to buy one with me and I'm going to die. You have to buy one with me. It's all I want from you for Christmas. Forever. Please, Emily."

"Good", she remembered her own shopping tour with Felicity too well. Her loud voice when she'd bossed the seller around (a man for heavens sake, a man in the lingerie shop), the shame she'd felt every time Felicity had commented the underwear and discussed them with other customers. The underwear. She remembered the old-fashioned corsages she'd worn until she found the courage to enter a shop and buy a sound and modern brassiere herself. "But I need you to do me a favour as well", she nevertheless decided to capitalize on the situation.

"Anything", she nodded hastily. "Really anything."

"I've to take care of some things. Go to _Martha's_. I'll pick you up as soon as I'm finished."

"What things?", she wanted to know.

"Aunt Felicity has a thing for bodices", she knew this wasn't fair, but it'd work. "The old ones, pressing the air out of your lungs and leaving red marks of the metal inlays on your skin." Emily even hadn't to mention the pain of squeezed skin and flesh to make Hopie agree.

"Take your time, I'll be waiting for you", the younger one said without wasting a second and hurried back to the main road.

Richard Gilmore couldn't take his eyes off her upper lip. He couldn't take his eyes off the dark hairs touching it whenever Lucinda Lester talked. And she talked a lot, tinting the hair tips in the pink of her lipstick. It was grotesque. Even more grotesque that she would've looked quiet good, if she'd gotten rid of the excessive hair in her face. A nice shave and a truncation of her eyebrows which looked like Siamese twins and she really would've been quiet a pretty girl. Richard wondered if it was a religious thing. He'd read somewhere that some religions forbid Beauty Treatments. But then she wore this pink lipstick, not to talk of the extensive rouge and eye shadow. He corrected his thought. With less hair _and_ make-up - then she'd look actually pretty nice. If she'd learn to keep her mouth shut, she'd even be able to catch someone who wasn't deaf.

"No he said and I tell you it was _soooo_ ridiculous and of course we demanded to see the manager of the club", she continued to babble and tint her moustache, while Richard wondered how hairy she had to be under her clothes if her face was such boondocks already. He zoned out to Emily. For a second he even had the feeling to feel her presence.

"Emily Johnson", Lucinda Lester actually exclaimed and he jerked.

"Lucinda", he heard her voice. "Lucinda Lester. What a pleasure to see you", she removed her red gloves, whose colour matched her scarf and boots exactly, and put them on the table while she talked. Her black coat didn't give the merest hint what she was wearing underneath. Richard made two guesses, a realistic one, the other was wishful thinking as he knew himself. He fancied the second one though.

Lucinda got up and the two women exchanged affectionate pecks on the cheek. "Emily, may I introduce you to Richard Gilmore. He's a Yale graduate. Richard this is-"

Emily interrupted her. "We know each other", she stated to his surprise, did it with the sweetest voice and smile, although she didn't look at him.

"You do?", her counterpart asked a bit disappointed and the moustache curled while she pursed her lips.

"Ages ago we even dated", she answered and Richard was tempted to kick Emily's shin, which was impossible as she was _a._ standing too far away and _b._ he was still sitting. Richard got up.

"Ages ago", he emphasized the last part of her statement. Even from the polite distance he could smell her sweet and yet tart fragrance.

"Richard", she eventually looked at him, a dignified nod. Just when he eventually decided to kiss her hand instead of disciplining her with ignorance for her conduct, she continued. "I heard of the tragic break-up between Pennilyn Lott and you", she said with her perfect hair free mouth. "I'm really sorry. You two were such a cute couple", Emily turned to Lucinda again. "They even were engaged for some weeks", she explained casually and if she hadn't a thing with the break-up. "She broke his heart", Emily leaned over to Lucinda, whispering the words loud enough for Richard to hear.

She put him on. Richard couldn't believe it. She really pulled his leg in front of Lucinda Lester, loud enough for most of the customers in the café to hear.

"Oh Richard", Lucinda exclaimed promptly, it couldn't have sounded more tender-hearted if she had said _poor Baby_ instead of his name. "You never told me."

"Well, I -", he wrinkled his forehead. "I've never been a man of many words."

Emily raised a brow and he saw mock shimmering in her eyes. "Remembering our last meeting, I sign that wholeheartedly."

That was it, Richard thought despite the fact that he knew he was the only one who knew what was actually going on. That was it, he thought and pinched her back as inconspicuously as possible. Emily didn't even wince and he started to feel tingly in his lumbar region. "His tongue was sluggard like a dormouse", she even added. His tongue and sluggard like a dormouse, Richard snorted inwardly, she'd been the one who'd gasped for breath every now and then, not him.

"Oh well", Emily continued chattily. "As much as I'd love to continue this lovely talk, I have to run."

"What a shame", Lucinda said, but didn't look like it a bit. Emily Johnson's narcissistic behaviour annoyed her. But she had seen the glint in her eyes. Her Majesty Johnson was simply jealous that she, Lucinda Lester of all people, that she had a date with a guy like Richard Gilmore. She had a date and Emily Johnson - it was all over town - was single, even hadn't had a second date for months.

A broad grin spread over Emily's face. "Yes it is", she still smiled, but less obvious, more polite. "Good-Bye Lucinda", two other peeks on the check. Her moustache probably tickled on Emily's skin. "Richard", she looked at him and offered him her hand. "Have a nice day." He took and shook it without a word. The scene simply left him speechless. _Have a nice day_. She couldn't have said it sweeter and more noncommittal, yet he suddenly had the feeling she just had come in to mark her territory. The prickle almost killed him.

Emily felt light and easy after the short meeting with Richard - and Lucinda. Really, that woman desperately needed a razor. A razor and a colour consulting. She was glad she had remembered her better looking than she actually was. Richard looked better, too. For a second she even had been tempted to tell Lucinda and everybody in the room this man was hers. She'd settled with the announcement they'd dated. First she'd been surprised herself. But then. It had been so easy to go on, the words had left her mouth before she'd thought them and his reaction had been priceless. A fish fidgeting on the fishhook - during their whole conversation. Despite she probably would run around with a bruise on her buttock for weeks, Emily couldn't stop to grin.

She stopped in front of a shop window about two hundred metres from the café where she'd found Richard and Lucinda after over an hour of search and pretended to have an intense interest in the kitschy candles presented in between fir and mistletoe twigs, golden tinsel, dried cranberries and popcorn. She closed her eyes and counted down from one hundred. At 34 she eventually heard his steps, determined and resolute, at 19 his voice.

"Ma'am", he said and at 8 she turned around. "Those might be yours", he handed Emily her gloves with an implied bow.

"How very thoughtful and charming of you", she took them. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Richard's smile turned her knees into gum as he said it. "It would've been even more thoughtful and charming, if you would've called me during the last days", she nevertheless pouted a little.

"You told me you'll be at your parents", he reminded her mildly, but she had no intentions to let him get through with her own objections as excuse.

"Information."

His smile grew broader. "Maria, Helena and Lucy", he counted the names with his fingers.

"Our maids", Emily smiled. His attempts propitiated her and set a flock of butterflies free.

"I only could prevent them from handing the phone to your mother by hanging up."

"She pays them."

"And you're twitting _me_", it was at him to pout.

"After all it's an inexcusable gap in education to not know what you had for dinner", there was a shrug of shoulders, a puss and Richard's own butterfly population was stirred into action. "Breakfast. Lunch", she continued. "If you found a parking lot and your secretary wore the poison-green polyester ensemble again."

"Due to the holidays she switched to a red one with a reindeer over her right chest. The scarf you told me to buy her for Christmas fits perfectly with it", he decided to stay on her track. "Moreover it mysteriously advanced her dictation and typing abilities."

"Small gifts will best maintain friendship."

The overstressed phrase, how she said it and how she looked, overwhelmed him without premonition or sense. Richard damned the ample track. "I want to be alone with you", he said and Emily raised a brow.

"Nothing easier like that", she joked confused.

"There are theses big houses you can rent rooms in", he suggested, it was worth the try, he simply had to try.

Emily didn't know what to reply. "Lucinda is waiting", she said.

"Just an hour or two, Emily", he continued, she hadn't said _No_ after all.

"You're already talking too long with me for somebody who just brought me some forgotten gloves", she prevaricated nervously and as there was still no _No_, Richard decided to continue.

"Half an hour."

"Lucinda Lester."

"Please, Emily."

"Lucinda", she said again. Her voice lacked certainty and it encouraged him.

"Then tomorrow."

"She might be gone by now."

"Boxing Day. 15 Minutes."

"Richard!"

"Just five, Emily."

She held her breath. "I don't know", she murmured. Alone. Just with him. It was definitely a temptation. Maybe she could find an excuse that'd make her mother allow her to steal away from home on Christmas.

"One minute."

"Richard, I-"

"Emily, please", he interrupted her. Despite the topic of their conversation he didn't dare to touch her on the street, which was crowded with people doing last-minute present shopping. "I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do", he tried to calm the concerns he thought she had. He couldn't have said something more erroneous.

Anything. Anything people do in a hotel. A hotel. A hotel room. A room with a bed. His explicitness shocked her. It flattered her as well and blood surged to her face. "I can't", her rationality eventually took over for good. "I really can't."

Her face told her to let it go and he tried to hide the disappointment in his own. "Alright", he nodded. "I really should go back to Lucinda now."

"You should", she agreed short.

"Good Bye", he turned around. "Merry Christmas", he heard her say.

"Merry Christmas", he replied. It won't be merry, he thought.

She didn't answer. Richard walked away and took the lightness, the easiness with him. For a second the need to follow him and agree drove her crazy. She repressed him first and then it was too late and he already was too far away. He was mad at her. It was Christmas and he was mad at her. The knockdown thought didn't leave her brain during her whole way to _Martha's_, where she picked up an eagerly waiting Henriette.

"There you finally are!", she practically jumped up and waved for the bill while she got into her coat. "It's almost five o'clock. The shops will be closing soon."

Five o' clock. Emily took a hasty look at the long case clock in a corner of the café. "I'm afraid we've no time to go shopping, Hopie", for a second Emily forgot about Richard and concentrated on the more concrete problem. "Dinner will be served in thirteen minutes."

Hopie stopped in motion. "But you promised", the healthy red of elatedness on her cheeks was replaced by paleness.

"I promised mother to be home on time before that."

"But you said you'll buy one with me", she remembered her older sister low.

"Yes, I did and I will. Just not today. Mother will be angry, if we won't be home in time."

"I don't care about that. I want to get that stupid thing now."

"The shops won't run away and there'll still be brassieres after Christmas."

Henriette couldn't believe it. Probably everybody in the room had heard she needed a bra. And now she even wouldn't get one. "You promised", her cheeks got colour again. It was an angry red, mixed with some pink embarrassment.

"Hopie, I-"

"Don't call me that!", she exclaimed. "Liar", she added with an upset fizzling and stormed out of the café without wasting a second thought on the open bill. Emily paid for her. Hopie was mad. Richard was mad. A second look on the clock assured her she never would make it home for dinner and her mother would be mad too.

Lillian Johnson indeed was mad. It was Christmas after all, the only time of the year even Baldwin came out of his studio and participated in the opulent dinners, yes even the unpacking on Christmas Morning with a pipe in his mouth and an Irish Coffee in his hand. As the girls were too old to be sent to their rooms without dinner, Lillian punished them with ignorance during the eight course menu. A complicated undertaking as her husband was the only other dialogue partner and no friend of conversations. At least he grunted every now and then and she managed it to make him utter some sentences while she held a forlorn monologue that was peppered with indirectnesses about punctuality, gratefulness and sense of family addressed to her daughters. She lost her labour. Henriette was too occupied with pouting and mourning and throwing angry looks at Emily and Emily knew herself her mother had every right to be mad, just like Hopie had and yet Richard's madness was the only one she could think about. The thought was unbearable and brought her a sleepless night. On Christmas Morning there wasn't the usual anticipation hence, but only an omnivorously tiredness.

Something like thoughtfulness shimmering in his eyes, Baldwin looked at his eldest daughter, trying to make out how old she exactly was. Due to his brother she soon would be too old to get married and give birth, but she didn't look very old to him. Baldwin tried to figure out when she was born. It must've been somewhere between Picasso's sculpture and still life periods and while he'd experimented with housewares as alternate paint (a mucker, the beautiful red of tomatoes all too soon got grey and green and furry, which looked nice for a while but smelled bestial long before the final corrosion and destruction of the strokes). Twenty years ago, he calculated. Maybe twenty-one, depending on the question if she was born before Picasso's _Still Life With Cheese _or afterwards. Definitely before his own _Monkeys In Zoo_ however. Egg liqueur and thick mixed cacao. Wonderful yellow, expressive brown. But so fleeting. Baldwin looked at the cream grazing his Irish Coffee. A shame it'd get sour and run. Otherwise, he'd be able to paint wonderful clouds with it. He sighed. Well, if he'd apply enough white paint from the vertical, he maybe would be able to get the same effect. It'd look beautiful, he thought. There were so many things, he added, more beautiful things, paintings and sculptures for example than the grey lists of numbers and transactions, of male Johnson's taking over the boring trade company. If it were up to him, his children could do what they wanted. He'd done what he wanted during his entire life with the small exception to marry Lillian Goldsmith. He'd done it out of the same reason, he thought about his eldest daughter's age and marital status now: Baldwin knew he needed money to continue his career. He liked his children in some odd way. He loved his art in an all-inclusive way. Paintings were ever-lasting. They continued to be when the artist and his families were buried already.

Emily interpreted her father's look on her as silent order to unpack his present. She looked around and grabbed something that looked the most like a painting to her and unpacked it. She had guessed right, it contained an unframed canvas. It was 19 by 19 inches big only and displayed densely packed red, pink and purple geometric figures. Baldwin had called it _Midnight Ballroom_, the first acceptable result of his attempts to reduce his paintings and abstractivity to the essence of being.

"Thank you father", Emily stated, a smile playing around her lips. "It's lovely."

"Can't you just give your daughters useful things like every other father?", Lillian asked her husband as she did every year.

"Can't you just make out that those paintings will be worth a fortune in some years?", Baldwin replied rather amused than annoyed. He knew his wife simply hadn't the necessary artistry to recognize the brilliance of his work.

"If the idea behind your presents is valorisation, you should give them diamonds and gold instead of some colored dabs", she eyed the painting.

"It aren't just dabs", he protested. "Or would you call Van Gogh's _Starry Nights _a congeries of uncoordinated strokes of the brush? No you wouldn't!", he continued before Lillian had a chance to answer. "You'd spent a fortune for it."

"Because he was a brilliant artist."

"Nobody recognized that brilliancy while he was stile alive", Baldwin paused and everybody in the room knew what was coming. "Just like nobody realizes mine, but all those so-called art connoisseurs prefer it to lick the shoes of Pablo Picasso", he practically spitted the last two words and shook his head with sadness. "It's a curse."

"I like the dabs", Emily intervened automatically and Henriette secretly rolled her eyes as she did and used the debate as opportunity to unpack her painting hastily (_Duel_, some energetically red dashes on an otherwise white canvas with the measures of a davenport) and dispose of it behind the sofa she was sitting on.

"They aren't dabs", Baldwin denied once more, this time obviously less even-tempered as he expected more artistry of his daughters. "You have to look behind the things and not just at them."

"Baldwin, please", Lillian sighed. "Can't you just leave us alone with this on Christmas?"

"I really like it", Emily confirmed. "And the painting will get a place of honour in my room." As her father never visited her at Smith and never would she didn't feel it was necessary to point out she had the floor of her wardrobe in her mind.

"Next to the fact it'll look ridiculous on the British wallpaper or any other wallpaper, a girl of your age shouldn't be talking of her room, but her mansion", her mother changed the subject with an abruptness that threw Emily for a loop and rubbed salt into her wounds. She had ruined everything. Richard was mad. Suddenly she longed for her bed, the weight of the heavy eiderdown on her body and face.

"I love the colours", she told Baldwin with a distorted smile. "They'll look good with those of the wallpaper", she added without looking at her mother while she decided to actually hang up the hideous painting.

This year's Boxing Day had nothing loveable for Richard Gilmore. The books he'd gotten looked boring in his eyes, the shirts and ties colourless and the car, a black Pontiac Grand Prix with a white leather interior, inornate and desolate without somebody on the front passenger's seat. Somebody. He wondered if he'd gone too far by asking Emily to go to a hotel with him. He wondered if she was mad. How mad she was. He should've phrased his request differently. Less equivocal. Sure, in the very back of his mind there had been the idea to sleep with her. It was always there. But when he'd asked her to take a room - all he had wanted was to be alone with Emily. He finally wanted the opportunity to be really alone with her for the first time in months. To look at her, to talk with her, to kiss her. Maybe, yes, if it'd resulted to go further he sure wouldn't have said no. But it hadn't been the number one idea behind his suggestion. He'd given her a false impression and now she was mad. Probably she'd every right to be mad. Yes, Richard Gilmore really loathed this Boxing Day and spent it with staring on the wall and ceiling of his old room. The grain of his wardrobe remembered him of Emily's face. He'd only to wink in a fast order and the blurry pattern formed the outlines of her face. Not as beautiful as the original, but a little comfort at least. It made him call wanna call her. He didn't. She could've hung up after all and Richard didn't want to ruin this Christmas for good.

It really would've been ruined, if the phone in the Gilmore mansion wouldn't have rang at eight thirty. The maid, a Southern spinster named Monica with legs as broad as antique struts, answered it. He heard her voice vaguely as she did, he could hear her heavy steps on the stairs and eventually approaching his room after a while. He didn't want to talk to anyone and prepared to announce that when Monica knocked.

"A Ms. Austen for you Mr. Gilmore", she murmured through the thick door. Richard almost struck her dead with it when he stormed out of his room.

"Gilmore", he murmured slightly out of breath when he picked up the phone.

"_Merry Boxing Day"_, she replied. He was sure she'd hear how the load off his mind crashed onto the Arabian carpet.

"Emily", he stated with a smile. "I'm so glad you called", he told her honestly.

"_Well, as you made no attempts to call me, I had to, didn't I?" _

"So glad, Emily", he affirmed.

There was a brief pause. _"How was your Christmas, Richard?" _

"Just fair", he answered vaguely. "And yours?"

"_The perfect American Christmas." _

"Was it?", he asked disappointed. He'd hoped, she'd feel at least a little as crushed as he.

"_Yes"_, she said. _"I fought with my mother. I fought with my sister. It told my father I love a present I hate and listened to my mother's reproaches before we fought again. Which is all nothing compared to Christmas Eve. Afternoon? Is there an exact term for the afternoon before Christmas Day?"_

"Afternoon of misapprehension?"

"_Misapprehension? Was there a misapprehension?" _

Richard hesitated. "I still want to be alone with you", he said low. "Under your terms", he added hastily. There was a long pause. An eternity, he felt.

"_Alright_", Emily replied softly after seven seconds in real-time. She didn't sound mad, he realized happy. It was a start.

"The end of the year is hectic. People due notice insurances. People need new insurances."

"_Alright_", she said again, said it with a question mark.

"I'm up to my neck in work. I'll start tomorrow at seven again and I probably won't be home before nine o'clock. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow. The whole week long and longer", he could hear her take breath to reply something, so he hurried to go on. "My renters are visiting their relatives in Ohio. There's an extra-key under the third flowerpot on the left windowsill next to the entrance door. If I'll come home one day and you'll be there it'll be fine with me. If you won't it'll be fine with me as well. Whatever, Emily. It'll be fine with me."

There was a third _"Alright"_ Richard couldn't read the subtext of. It was followed by a _"Good night, Richard." _

"Good night", he said to the dead line.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: Fast update on the way to airport. Enjoy everyone! 


	20. A Voyage To Edmeston

**A Voyage To Edmeston**

"Mother, please", Emily rolled her eyes, her voice sounding like the typical one of a daughter annoyed by an uncomprehending parent. "I really have to finish this paper", she folded a dress and put it into her suit case.

"You should've finished it before the holidays", Lillian disagreed, her voice being the typical one of a mother annoyed by a stubborn child. "I really don't understand how you could delay the writing of the paper if it is _**that**_ important. That's not what I taught you."

"I told you already I tried to finish it", Emily defended herself and her honour. "But I was -"

"There!", Lillian exclaimed and Emily rolled her eyes, whizzing a sigh.

"There what?"

"But", she stated.

"But?"

"Always this but. A word like "but" shouldn't exist in your vocabulary. "But" isn't more than a synonym for "My apologies, I'm lazy and fail to see my faults."

"I'm not", she disagreed, while her anger slowly reached its boiling point. "I was just too busy to finish the paper in time."

Lillian folded her arms and raised a brow. "Busy with what?"

"Nothing special", Emily tergiversated. "This and that."

"This and that?"

"Well. I. Christmas shopping and classes and another paper and there were just so many things lately I had to deal with."

"It's been months since you broke up with Robert Tadman."

Not five minutes, Emily thought, not four and here we are again. "What are you intending to say, Mother?", she asked as she was too tired for this game. They'd played it too often during the holidays and every new time it got harder for her to oppose her mother with excuses and lies. Excuses and lies which confirmed Lillian Johnson and her baseless reproaches. Emily couldn't believe she really lied to appear unsuccessful.

"I'm just wondering, if _this and that_ leaves you enough time to think about and mostly find a partner eventually", Lillian didn't let down Emily's expectation with her answer. "Which is what you should do instead of writing a paper. A paper won't give you a home and support you after your graduation."

Emily suppressed a laugh. Her clueless mother told her to do what she intended to do. Her mother supported her intention to go to the lion's den and accept Richard's invitation despite the fact that it wasn't appropriate. Inappropriate but important. Displeasing him again, the possible consequence of losing him hence was the only reason why she'd decided to do the unthinkable and visit a man in his flat. Suddenly she felt superiority.

"Actually you shouldn't write that paper", Lillian continued. "Before you're engaged as there's no reason to graduate before you are."

"So I'm supposed to ruin my grades?"

"Of course you aren't!", she exclaimed annoyed. Apparently her daughter had decided to carry her pigheadedness and sulking to ridiculous extremes. "We're not paying Smith to have you graduate with less than magna cum laude."

"And an engagement ring on my finger", Emily answered snotty.

"Don't you dare to talk back to me."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out what you're expecting of me in order to fulfil these expectations."

"This is enough of your insufferable intractability, Emily. Since when did I teach you to give opposition like a common brat?"

"You didn't, mother. Just like you did not teach me to be unmarried at twenty-one. I suppose something went wrong."

Lillian gasped for breath. Never, never she had experienced such a disrespectful behaviour of one of her daughters. She'd spent the last twenty years, half of her life for heaven's sake, to teach and form them into ladies with every possible facility and exertion and this was the return. "As wasting your talent and life wasn't on the curriculum either, you might be right."

"We don't know yet if I even have the talent to give birth."

She felt her hand wince, but abstained. No way in hell would she give Emily the gratification of losing her temper in front of her, of losing her face. A mother's face. A face that had to be respected. "Giving birth is not a talent."

"Yet, I'll ruin what dozens of Johnson's established during the last centuries, if I don't. That's what I'll waste. Not my life, Mother. This isn't about me, it never has been."

"Oh, look at you Emily. What right do you have to wallow in self-pity? You've everything others are panting for. Most people would do anything to live the life you have, therefore it's not too much to ask for you to reciprocate, especially if the only thing expected in return is to find a family."

"What if I don't?"

Inwardly she smiled. How naïve of Emily to think she was able to bluff her own mother. "What else would you do? What else would you _want_ to do?"

"I -", she started, but stopped right away. Her mother was right. There was nothing else. Nothing else she could do. Nothing else she wanted to do. She wanted that engagement ring on her finger before she graduated. She wanted to be married. She wanted that family. She wanted it with Richard and she wanted to see him. She had to. She simply had to all of it. "I have to finish packing, if I want to be back at Smith before dawn", she said low.

"That isn't an answer to my question, Emily."

She longed to give Lillian the answer she wanted to hear. She longed to say "There is someone. A wonderful man, Mother. I think I'm even in love with him. I think he's in love with me. I think we're perfect for each other, more perfect than I ever imagined it could be. We'll marry. I don't know when, but we'll marry. He'll marry me".

"I have a date this week", she said instead, did it as noncommittal as possible.

"Do I know him?", Lillian asked curiously, even though Emily's late dating history should've told her to do not get too excited about a single date.

"I don't think so", Emily denied. "But as you taught me not to marry a man without having introduced him to my parents and having their approval, you might get to know him. Him or my next date. There are still plenty of bachelors on the East Coast I haven't dated, not to mention the other thirty-nine states of the US."

Something like a smile played around Lillian Johnson's lips and she made a noise that could've been interpreted as light laugh. Then she looked at Emily's open suitcase on the bed. "You're not supposed to fold wrinkles into the dresses", she took the upper out of its temporary harbourage. "But to fold the dresses so they don't get wrinkled", she unfolded and folded the green silk again and therewith gave Emily the official permission to leave her parent's house.

Henriette however made clear she didn't approve of Emily's departure at all, but interpreted it as high treason. Therefore she used the effective weapon Lillian Johnson lately had introduced her to: Ignorance. No matter how often Emily knocked at her door and asked her to let her in, the younger one did not even reply to her request with a single word. The behaviour hurt Emily, just like it hurt her to disappoint Hopie, but one day her sister would understand she had to go and see Richard.

Emily wasn't there at the evening of the 27th. But then they only had phoned yesterday, Richard thought. He opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. Afterwards he sat down on the couch and closed his eyes. He almost had the feeling she was around.

On the 28th Richard found his four walls to be empty again. Disappointment flooded him. He washed it away with a glass of the wine he'd opened yesterday and closing his eyes he almost could touch her.

On the 29th Richard was sure she'd be there, during the whole day he could tell she'd be waiting for him with an incontrovertible certainty. When he opened the door, he was sure it was really her perfume lying in the air of his apartment and not just another phantasm. The flat was empty though. Richard emptied the bottle of wine and sat behind his desk. Nobody picked up the phone in Emily's apartment. The maid of the Johnson's told him Miss Johnson departed already and he hung up when Maria put the phone away to get Mrs. Johnson instead. Richard wondered where Emily was and with whom. She was in the same country, even on the same coast, somewhere within a radius of 150 miles and yet she could've been in Italy, Siberia or even Cap Taenarium. She wasn't here and it wasn't fine with him at all.

On the 30th Emily already snuck into his flat in the late afternoon. The time she'd spent in Richard's living room had extended during the last days, yet she always had lost her courage the closer the index of the small clock on the wall got to the Latin nine and left it hastily before the time-piece announced the clock hour. This was more than inappropriate. A woman absolutely did not belong into a man's flat before they were married. Yet, it gave her kind of a cozy feeling to be here and as long as Richard wasn't around it wasn't that inappropriate. Not even her mother, really nobody would be able to call an empty flat a perceivable risk after all, no matter whom it belonged to.

Richard eventually gave in. A dinner with his boss and some colleagues wouldn't only be good for his career, but was also more attractive than another lonely evening. Besides they all had done good work during the last days, some smaller things still had to be dealt with the next day, but the most important things had been done in an excellent time span, which ought to be celebrated. Hence the small group of insurance men left the office at quarter to eight already, heading towards a small but fine restaurant in the city. It was Michael Paulsen who made the taunting remark about the Vanden Plas Princess parked on the roadside and started the discussion about the newest car models among the men. Richard however slowed his step and took a closer look at the limousine. He never had seen this car in the neighbourhood. He never had seen the car Emily used to get to their meetings as they arrived and departed separated. Yet he knew she used the "monstrous ship" of her aunt, a "hearse masqueraded as family car" in which she felt like a "Lilliputian trying to steer a wheel constructed for the Brobdingnag farmer" and though she ("without exaggeration") was "truly deft if it comes to embroidery " it was impossible for her "to feed a rope into the eyes of needles which people get of calling parking lots".

Richard's palms got wet when he calculated that the probability of the Vanden Plas Princess being the "deformed battle cruiser" of Emily's aunt and hence the car she usually drove was more than likely. He didn't even put effort into making up a good excuse for not joining the dinner all of sudden and walked to his flat as fast as possible without running, taking three stairs at once in the staircase before he eventually opened his door with nervous anticipation.

Emily jolted and turned around. Even though her heart stopped some beats it pumped plenty of blood to her face. "Richard", she tried to say, but couldn't control her vocal chords, producing a raspy caw instead of his name. She took a step back. "I" she wanted to say, but his arms wrapped around her body tightly first took her the air to talk, then the one to breath. She brought a hand to his face and he bowed down, a deep kiss before he twirled her around. He twirled her and kissed her, she answered the twirling with laughter and the kisses with kisses, his hands were on her back and waist, hers around his neck. Damning modesty she searched his mouth, replying the kisses on her neck with kisses onto his cheek and jaw. She couldn't tell how long her feet hung above the floor until they eventually ended up on the sofa and continued the wordless conversation. She couldn't tell or think of anything but Richard and the closeness. She wanted him to wrap her body around her, a warm hollow she could snuggle into, a cocoon with nothing around her but him and him and him. Emily felt nothing but him, not even how far they've gotten already, that her skirt had slipped over her hips a long time ago and his lips explored her naked collarbone exposed by the half unbuttoned blouse. Emily felt nothing but him until she suddenly felt his fingers on the inside of her thigh, a light touch millimetres away from her panties only. Her body reacted with a shiver while her mind was appalled at her body. His hand moved away again, caressing her thigh, fingers that moved up and down on her muscles while his mouth never let go of hers. Her mind relaxed for a while and went on alarm when his hand drew near the panties again. She almost swallowed their tongues when she tried to repress a moan that followed the warm shiver this time. Enough, she decided, but was unable to accomplish her body to push him away. His hand wandered away again, his whole body shifted as he ran it up her waist and side and she felt him pressing into her right thigh, not much, but enough to know it was there. Her mind freaked and his fingers slid down again, perilously close to her panties. Her skin and muscles had a trembling life of their own. There was the warm shiver again. There was dampness. There was the pressure on her right thigh. His fingers on the other. On the inside of it. On her skin. Circles. Softness. The pressure. Shivers and his fingers. Closer. Too close. Her mind amucked for good.

Richard almost hit the floor the moment she had control over her arms again and pushed him away. "No", she said with hoarse voice. "No", she repeated, forcing her voice as well to obey again and jumped up. Her knees were still weak, but they carried her weight. Usually she liked her body, right now she hadn't much for the stupid, disobedient thing. She still had trouble breathing. This feeling between her legs. And her knees, goddamn them, bones, not gum. She wanted her bones back.

"Emily…", Richard looked at her rather confused. Confused and disappointed.

"No", she said once more, loud and a little shrill. Air. Bones. Dryness.

"But…", he started, distracted by the beauty of her reddened cheeks and the aguey shine in her eyes, yet gutted by the sudden end of their close interval.

"Excuse me", she careened two steps, firm steps then with whom she vanished inside the bathroom.

He heard the snap of the lock, some rumbling and the rush of a turned on water-tap. Having a vague idea of what she was doing he leaned back. Probably not the best idea, he thought. A low moan, followed by a curse affirmed him and Richard smiled. Her tangible inexperience made him smile and almost forget about the backlash. Almost. Sure, he'd known from the beginning on she wasn't a category one girl. But she wasn't category two either. She didn't fall in a category. She wasn't a category. She was different. His feelings for her differed from the feelings he'd had for every other girl. He couldn't contain when he was around her, especially as he hadn't seen her in days. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly. Her body, this gorgeous body wrapped in this soft and warm skin like a gift, the only gift he wanted for Christmas and his Birthday, Easter and every other holiday and occasion that called for gifts. Period. Richard stood up and got himself a glass of water, emptying it with slow gulps he counted to get rid of the excitation which still made it hard for him to think clear. He just poured himself a second glass, when the bathroom door opened again.

"I guess I should be going", Emily said and he turned around. She still looked jazzed, jazzed and lost and it set free a languorous feeling of love. He didn't want her to go. Not now. He was too crazy for her to let her go just like that and because of nothing.

"You shouldn't", he walked towards her.

For a second Emily bit her lower lip. "Richard, I really -",

"You shouldn't", he softly kissed the corner of her mouth.

"I can't. Not after -", she stopped, a vague gesture towards the sofa. She shook her head and her mind told her legs to take a step back. She, who never had a thing for physical intimacy, suddenly was longing for it. Of all the new and unknown sides Richard brought out in her, it was the only thing she looked rather sceptical at. It scared her. The whole incident on the sofa did. She had lost control. She totally had lost control. Over her body. Over her conviction. "I really can't", she raised a hand as if to touch his face, but changed her mind and ran it through her hair. "I can't", she repeated lower, always these recurrences, a broken connection between her tongue and her reason. "I don't want to."

Only now he realized Emily probably wasn't referring to staying, but sex. "You don't have to do anything but stay", he took her hand and squeezed it.

Emily hesitated. There she was and all her concerns had proven true. Parts of her wanted to run away, others just stay with him. And the way he looked at her now, the expression in his eyes - maybe he'd tried to seduce her, but then she'd never told him there were boundaries she wouldn't cross. Moreover, she'd taken part up to a certain point, she herself had giving him her sanction with her acting. "I won't do anything but stay", Emily eventually did both, setting up a rule and agree. "Not today. Not in the future. Not until I'm married."

Richard decided to agree for now. "What about dinner? Will you have dinner with me?", he did it oblique. "I could get us some food in the Greek restaurant around the corner. It isn't haute cuisine, but considering the standards of this town it's really good."

"Dinner would be fine", Emily said. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast", she added to underline she was actually hungry and really indented to eat and nothing else. She could've saved her breath, Richard didn't try anything during the rest of the evening, at least nothing that would've set her inner alarm on again. They talked about the Greek food and Greece, Greek literature and Greek philosophy. Both liked the Greek cuisine, Emily the Mediterranean preparation of fish, Richard the one of lamb. Both liked Plato's Cave Allegory, just like both loved the anecdote of Alexander, Diogenes and his tub. Both had seen the typical Greek amphitheatres and old Greek plays, but never a Greek play in a Greek amphitheatre in Greece.

"I recently read they're using the theatre of Herodes Atticus again", Richard said enthusiastically. "We really should visit a representation, everything else would be inexcusable."

"We should", Emily answered, enjoying the feeling of the plural on her tongue and in her ears.

"You know what else would be inexcusable?", Richard winked.

"No", she shook her head with a curious smile.

"If I didn't eventually give you my Christmas present."

"You got me a present?", she asked flattered, although she bought one for him (of course she did, she'd spent hours and days to find the right one as it had to be special, the most special thing he'd ever gotten) and in the back of her mind had hoped he would've get her one too, she couldn't help to feel flattered.

"Of course I did", he got up and walked to the sideboard, opening one of the drawers. "Everything else would've been - "

"_Inexcusable_", both said at the same time, followed by a light laugh.

"Here we go", Richard put a small, wrapped item in front of Emily. "Open it", he asked her almost impatient.

"Alright", she sat up even straighter than she usually did. "But give me my purse first, please."

"You don't have to shoot me, if you don't like it", he joked to cover up his confusion. "You always can exchange it."

"My purse, please", she demanded and Richard fetched it. "Thank you", she opened it and got out a wrapped item as well. "I like you too much to shoot you", she gave it to him, sending out a silent prayer he'd like it. "And I hope you'll still like me after you opened it", she added with a skew smile.

"I like you too much to be upset about an excrescent present."

"Calling it excrescent already, even though you haven't opened it?", she raised a brow. "Thanks for your trust in my taste."

"I was just trying to sooth your concerns, dear."

Dear. Emily melted. First the we, then the Christmas present, now the dear. Maybe she'd lost control for a while, but now. It was so perfect. Simply everything was so perfect right now and she didn't regret her decision to come and to be here with him a bit. "Your present must be a real blast, if you're not having any concerns", she pulled at the golden bow rapped around the gift.

"Given the efforts I put into getting it, it had better be a blast", he stated and observed Emily's face and hands while she removed the bow and the tape neatly. Richard had to grin. The way she unwrapped the present, he never had really thought about it before, but realized he'd expected her to do it this way, the incarnation of self-possession.

Emily slowly unfolded the paper and smoothed the red material out before she took a closer look at the longish box she'd just unpacked. The form already revealed it only could harbour jewellery. A necklace or a bracelet. Her heart beat a little faster when she took the box, enjoying the pleasant anticipation for another second before she eventually opened it. "Richard", she couldn't help to exclaim surprised when she saw the beautiful silver bracelet, graced with honed topaz jewels. "This is -", she ran a finger over the cold material. "It's beautiful", she looked at him. "Thank you."

"When I first saw it, I thought it'd look beautiful on you, but wasn't sure if you'd like it too", he took the bracelet and adjusted it around Emily's wrist. "But then the jeweller told me it once belonged to Rebecca Rolfe and I simply had to get it", he closed it and ran a finger over Emily's hand. "He didn't know exactly who gave it to her, but said it was probably a present from John Smith to thank her for saving his life."

"I hope it wasn't Smith", Emily stated and covered his hand on hers with her free one.

"Why?", he asked surprised.

"She married Rolfe."

"Maybe", he slightly shook his head. "But did she love him?"

Emily remembered the fight they had about dates and the things she'd said that night. She wished she hadn't, she wished he never had heard her saying them. "I couldn't marry a man, if I didn't. Not anymore", she hence said shyly, unsure if it was too much to say, unsure if it'd sound right as she'd no experience with this kind of conversation. It felt odd. "And now open your present", she asked him hastily and pulled back her hands, shifting her present in front of him.

"Alright", he once more decided to continue the game she played. He'd heard what he'd needed to hear. Without paying much attention to the bow or paper, he almost ripped the present open, revealing a leather-bound book with engraved Cyrillic letters.

"I know you don't speak Russian. Yet, it's the first edition of _War and Peace_", Emily hurried to explain nervously. "A signed one", she added, her heart in her boots. "I thought you might appreciate having it. The trader had the English first edition too, it's not signed, however I could understand if you'd want to have a book you actually can read and made sure it wouldn't be a problem to exchange it."

"Are you kidding?", he told her electrified. "There's no way I'm going to give this book away", Richard opened it and stroke over the faded signature. "Can you believe he actually held this book in his hands? Tolstoy, one of the most brilliant authors and men in the world's history held it in his hands and signed it and now I'm holding it in my very own hands."

"I guess that means you like it?"

"It's the best present I ever got, Emily", he leaned over to kiss her tenderly and his reaction brought her self-confidence back.

"I hoped you'd say that", she smiled and there was another kiss, longer this time and Emily felt herself loosing in his touches and closeness again. "It's late", she broke it when she realized she was loosing control again. "And I still have to drive back to Smith."

"You could stay if you wanted to", he suggested carefully. He didn't want to end this evening, especially as he didn't know when they'd get the chance to be together like this again. Alone the thought of her leaving made him miss her. "I wouldn't mind spending a night on the couch, if it gives me the opportunity to have breakfast with you."

"I promised my mother to be back home tomorrow morning in order to help her with the preparations for the New Year's Dinner the DAR will host", she rejected despite the fact she regretted to have wasted three entire days. Three evenings she could've spent with him instead of sitting in her room and miss him. How stupid. Spending the night here still wasn't an option. "Besides, there's still so much to organize for my birthday party."

"So we won't see each other until then?", Richard asked disappointed.

"I guess not."

"That's six days, Emily."

"I know."

"Six days too much."

"I know that, too."

"I don't like that."

"Me neither."

"You're really going now, aren't you?", he asked, unable to repress some hope she might change her mind.

Emily didn't. She leaned forward and gave him a last kiss. Then she stood up and Richard helped her into her coat, stealing himself another last kiss as he did. He embraced her afterwards, did it until she freed herself after some minutes. "I'm really going now."

"I'll accompany you to your car."

Emily nodded and they silently left the flat, the sound of their breath the only noise in the cold night air while they walked to her aunts Royce. "I don't want to go", Emily whispered after he'd kissed her another time.

"You have to", he forced himself to remind her. Not today.

"Probably", she put on a weak smile.

"Call me as soon as you're home."

"It'll be late and you've to get up tomorrow."

"Call me", he opened the door for her. "I won't be able to sleep until you did anyways."

"I'm a good driver."

"Tell that the drunken jerk destabilising the streets", he said while he scolded himself for only thinking of being alone with her and not having wasted a mere thought on the dangers of and on winterly roads in the darkness. His selfishness filled him with shame.

"Not even a truck could plunge the lovely battleship of my aunt", she got on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Good Night", she eventually took her leave and entered the car. "I'll call you", she promised the moment Richard opened his mouth to tell her so once more.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: I'm sorry for my horrible updating skills, yet now that my sister is eventually married, I hope to be able to give you something to read more regularly. Thank you for your reviews and thanks to Mel for playing Beta despite moving this weekend. 


	21. Hang Em High

**Hang Em High**

It was still dark when Emily woke up. Dark and yet the thick blanket of snow outside mirroring the moonlight bathed her room in a silver light. She sat up and took a look at her alarm clock, which said it wasn't later than 4:39. She hadn't been born before 5:21 and still this was her birthday. She was 21, officially an adult now. She'd have a marvellous party tonight. Dozens of guest would fill the house, family and friends, Richard, they all would come to celebrate her birthday. A happy smile shooed over her face. Today was her day. Hers alone.

Emily pulled the blanket away and - trying to make no noise - got up. Everybody else was probably still asleep and for a second she played with the thought of using the opportunity and sneaking to the phone in the hall to call Richard. Her reasoning dominated eventually. He was probably still asleep. It was her birthday and it was up to him to call her anyways. Moreover, there was always the chance somebody might see her despite the time and she didn't want to risk anything to spoil the perfection of the day. With the intention to read until everybody was awake, Emily grabbed a book and sat into the armchair in the corner of her room, turning on the floor lamp standing next to it. She wasn't able to concentrate. Her thoughts twirled around the day, more exactly around the party, and to be totally specific around Richard's attendance. She imagined how he'd look in his suit, the looks he'd throw at her, how he hopefully would silently gnash his teeth whenever she danced with someone but him and how he'd dance with her, whispering compliments into her ear as he did. She knew that he'd ask her if there was any place in the house where they could be alone for some minutes and she would tell him to go to the corner room on the second floor. Nobody would be on the second floor. No one was ever on the second floor but at most one of the maids to clean the unused rooms up there. And tonight the employees would have more important things to do than dusting the furniture that had once belonged to her grandmother who had lived up there until she died, died long before Emily was born or her father had even married her mother. The corner room. It had been Louise Johnson's drawing room. A cozy place in warm colours which hadn't been changed since her death. There were still unfinished embroideries lying around, magazines and dime novels from the early 1930s, there even was an unwrapped box of Swiss chocolates standing on the davenport, next to it an unfinished thank you note to "Sweetest Dredie" dated on July 24th 1935. It was as if time was nonexistent in this room and that's why Emily chose it.

Yes, she thought once more and closed the book, this really would be a perfect day. Even Hopie would forget her resentment. It was her birthday after all. Everything would be more than perfect. Emily got up and took a long bath, thinking of Richard while the warm water smelling of roses and lavender surrounded her, thinking of Richard while she wiped her body and put crème on it, dried her hair and got dressed. She felt tingly. Every part of Emily's body prickled after she'd finished her morning routine and headed down the stairs to the breakfast-room. Partly she knew why she felt this way, it was her birthday after all, there'd be a party and lots of ballyhoo. But there was something different, too. Something the thought of Richard had caused, the thought of him and the prospects of being alone with him. The thought of him while she'd felt the soft towel on her naked skin and later had massaged the cream into it. Emily couldn't help but be slightly ashamed upon it. She couldn't help enjoying it at the same time. She enjoyed being awake to her body in a way she'd never been before. It made her feel beautiful, more beautiful than everyone else. She'd be the centre of the party and not only because it was her birthday. They'd all look at her with admiration, some of the women with jealousy, most of the men with desire. Richard would look at her with desire. Desire and love. Emily felt incredibly special.

Henriette put a damper on her exaltation. Her mother hugged her, a kiss on the cheek and birthday wishes. Her father shook her hand and offered her birthday wishes. Henriette, however, put a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth (She ate! She ate despite knowing that no one was supposed to eat until everybody sat at the table for heaven's sake! She ate despite knowing that Emily, as the birthday girl, was entitled to the first cup of coffee, the first slice of toast and that she was the first one to be served the scrambled eggs and bacon) and didn't even look at her. Emily swallowed and smiled while she sat down.

"Henriette!?" Lillian reprehended and her daughter made an indefinable noise in between two spoons of oatmeal. "Henriette," she repeated sharply. She had no idea what was going on between her daughters, even causing her youngest to forget everything that beseemed. Meals were a sad and silent affair lately.

"It's alright, Mother." Emily put the napkin on her lap.

"It most certainly isn't," Lillian disagreed. "Henriette," she gave her an unmistakable look.

Henriette sighed annoyed and put the spoon away. "Happy Birthday," she stated with an undertone that made clear she wished Emily everything but a happy day.

Emily winced. "Thank you, Henriette." She smiled politely, wishing her mother hadn't forced Hopie to congratulate. She could live with the enmity of ignorance, but the enmity in her sister's voice felt like needles.

"Well," Lillian put a good face on the matter and gestured for the maid to pour the coffee. "Let's eat," she said chattily. "Shall we?"

Nobody said anything. Henriette continued to scarf down the oatmeal. Emily nipped at her coffee without touching her plate and Baldwin improved his coffee with a virile lacing from the pocket flask he always carried around in the front pocket of his worn-out jersey.

"This is ridiculous," Lillian eventually told her family. "I don't know what is going on, but none of you will rise from this table until you two will act decent again - Baldwin!" She exclaimed because her husband had gotten up while she'd talked.

"According to you, I've never acted decent. Therefore you can't be referring to me and there's no need for me to stay." He took his cup and headed towards his studio.

"The party will start at seven o'clock and I expect you to be punctual," Lillian called after him. "In the suit I had the maid iron on for you. Showered and without paint under your fingernails."

"I will see what I can do," he called back. He loathed festivities like this.

"You will -", Lillian moaned annoyed. "This is important, Baldwin. Your whole family will be here as well as most of the town. The important people anyways. And I don't want you to make a mock of yourself. Do I make myself clear?" There was no answer. "Baldwin?" she shouted. "Baldwin!?" Another moan and then she put her napkin onto the table and got up. "I expect to see my daughters smiling and companionable when I return," she demanded and followed her stroppy husband.

"Henriette, please," Emily begged as soon as they were alone. "You can't be mad at me forever."

Henriette dribbled the oatmeal on her spoon back to the bowl. She hated this grey stodge. She hated Emily.

"I suggested to go shopping seventeen times within the last six days. I said I'm sorry more than a hundred times and I really don't know what to do to placate you anymore," her sister continued. "Mother is right. This is really getting ridiculous," she hissed as Hopie didn't even grant her a look or something else that would've shown she was at least listening. "Ridiculous and childish!" Again there was no reaction. "Hopie!"

"How many times again!?! Do. Not. Call. Me. That!" She threw the spoon into the bowl and the pulp splashed on Lillian's fine linen.

"Stop acting like a child and I'll stop treating you like one," Emily scolded, although she was glad Henriette had decided to talk to her again after almost ten days of silence.

"I'm not acting like a child," she disagreed. "In some cultures they're cutting off the tongues of traitors, stone and hang them, so you should be glad about how civilized and adult I act."

"For heaven's sake, I didn't turn you over to a court, but broke the promise to buy a brassiere with you."

"You did it twice!"

"I had to finish the paper."

"And you keep telling me lie after lie."

"I'm not! I never would lie to you," she lied. It wasn't that much of a lie, she told herself. She usually wouldn't lie to Hopie. She never had and only did it because she'd no other choice. It even wasn't a real lie. A white lie, that's all, not a real one.

"Ha!" Henriette exclaimed triumphant. "And that's why I've a letter from early December in my drawer in which you write how glad you are to have finally finished all upcoming university work, even a paper you don't have to deliver until March?"

"I - it was on short notice", Emily mumbled, blood surging to her face.

"Bla, bla, bla," Henriette mocked to cover her offendedness. Even now Emily didn't tell her the truth. Even now she lied and didn't trust her a bit, while she always had told her everything, really everything. She felt so stupid. "Someone really should cut off your tongue, but even that would be too nice considering what a treasonable and detestable snake in the grass you are." With as much grace and dignity as possible she folded her napkin and laid it next to her bowl. "And now excuse me please, the bitchy smell in here gives me the urgent need to throw up."

Emily was unable to reply. She was even unable to move while her sister left the room with her head held high. Her eyes were burning and Emily swallowed and took a deep breath while she forced herself to calm down and think of pleasant things. She thought of the party. She thought of Richard. She wanted to burry her face on his shoulder. She wanted to do so while everyone watched. This simply wasn't fair. It was her birthday. It ought to be perfect. Nobody should offend her and she should have more than one or two dances and some poor minutes in a stupid corner room with the man she intended to marry.

"Where's Henriette?" Lillian asked displeased when she only found Emily to be left in the breakfast room.

"Upstairs," she mumbled and forcefully spiked some of the rumbled egg and bacon.

"That pig is dead already, Emily," Lillian reminded her. "Don't play with your food," she added when the fork hit the porcelain with a sound that made her fear it'd break.

"I'm going upstairs, too," her daughter dropped the silverware.

"The coiffeur will be here at three o'clock. And despite that Mildred is exceptionally gifted, she won't be able to cover that scowling face of yours. Hence you'd better do something about it."

"Whatever."

"You surprise me," she said with raised brows. "For months there wasn't a thing more important than this party, your dress and make-up, the flowers, the music and invitations with real pearls on them and all of sudden it seems as if you couldn't care less. But you should care. This is an important day. There will be important people and I want them to remember you as a beautiful and winning young lady and not as a grouchy Bactrian camel. Especially for the young and unmarried men, better to remember you as the former. And believe me there'll be some. Even your uncle - and heaven knows how busy he is with the company and work - gave me the names of some decent candidates."

"Now, that's great," Emily mumbled annoyed. "Why don't you two just auction me off and have me married by Judge Farnston to the highest bidder at midnight and just get through with it already?"

"Emily Johnson, your attitude is really getting on my nerves. We're only trying to help you."

"I don't want your help and I don't need it. I'll marry soon enough and to whom I want and you can bet it won't be someone Uncle Carl has chosen for me."

"Can you tell me where this snottiness of late is coming from? Snottiness and rejection upon an issue which is just as important to you as to me or your uncle."

"I'm not renunciatory. At least not if it comes to the idea of marriage and a family. I'm just so unbelievably sick of getting reduced to nothing more than a broodmare who desperately needs a stud to tup her before she's too old to conceive."

"Emily! Nobody ever would reduce you to _that,_" Lillian disagreed, shocked by her daughter's choice of words.

"Uncle Carl did," she hissed. "And so do you despite that you've phrase it in a more refined manner."

"Don't you dare allege such horrible things," her mother exclaimed. "And if Carl really dared to say something like that, he'd better bundle up, because I attach very little value to people approaching one of my daughters with such obscenities!"

Emily snorted. "It doesn't matter how he said it," she nevertheless stated, surprising calmly.

"Go to your room, Emily."

"I'm twenty-one, Mother, you can't -"

"Go to your room," Lillian interrupted her icily. "Now."

To be continued

* * *

ATN: You see, I kept my promise to update faster this time, hope you don't mind ;) Thank you very much for the wonderful and long reviews, they're my red shoes, umm, gloves (...fingers can dance on a keyboard, believe me...) and I'm looking forward to the next bunch of them.

This chapter was proofread by Elizabeth (thank you so much) and is totally dedicated to Mel.


	22. Introducing Richard Sledgehammer

**Introducing Richard**** Sledgehammer**

The house of the Johnson's was a three-storied, picture perfect example for neoclassical architecture. White sandstone and high windows, tall columns and cantilevered balconies. This wasn't a house. Even mansion was the wrong word. The palace. There was no other word but palace for this enormous property and it created a lump in Richard's throat. His parents had a sizeable house with a beautiful garden, too. But this. He'd always known the Johnson's had money, what a good catch Emily was, he'd known somewhere in the back of his mind. Seeing their residence with the apparently infinite park however - Emily had grown up in a palace, in between marmoreal floors, gold leaf and stucco. Even if he'd work until he'd drop, he'd never be able to afford a house, a mansion, a palace like this. While the maid took their coats, Richard started to calculate how expensive the residence must've been. While the maid guided Lucinda and him through the entrance hall and corridor, Richard calculated how long he'd pay a credit off with which he'd be able to purchase a property like the Johnson one. And when they eventually arrived in a room which was lit by dozens of candles in chandeliers of all sorts, hanging on the ceiling, integrated on the walls and standing on the floors and tables, Richard calculated the rates for a house with an interior like this. If they wouldn't go on vacations, no theatre or concerts, no employees, Christmas or birthday presents, clothes or food, he'd probably get rid of the liabilities until his retirement age. But then he wouldn't be able to retire as he never would've put money aside to live with after his retirement. Whether he broke into Fort Knox or he broke Emily she wouldn't be able to contain her living standard as Mrs. Gilmore gently.

He looked around. The room itself wasn't really big, but a huge open door connected it with another one. Standing in front of the open alley he actually could see a row of rooms and open doors, giving sight to some windows about seven or eight rooms away. They were all kept in different colours, one blue, the other one green, red and purple, golden and dusky pink. Despite they all were filled with chatting people in elegant evening dresses, Emily was in none of them and Richard wondered if he'd ever be able to find her in here. Lucinda didn't seem to care they hadn't greeted and congratulated the host yet. She introduced him to the other guests. Apparently she knew everyone and Richard couldn't tell how many hands he'd shook and kissed after half an hour nor did he care much. He wasn't here to meet new people. He was here to meet Emily. She'd invited him. It'd been her idea and now she wasn't there. At least not within the range of vision. Another hour passed. Waiters handed champagne and hors d'oeuvre, people laughed and talked and all of sudden they all pushed into the golden room and from there into an attached ballroom.

"Dear guests", he heard a female voice and tried to get a better place to see the speaking. "Dear, dear guests", she repeated and the murmur of the crowd fell silent. "Today we came together to celebrate the birthday of my eldest daughter Emily Katherine Rose Johnson, who was born twenty-one years ago", there was applause and Richard eventually managed it to get a glimpse on the small podium. From the looks it was hard to believe the blonde woman talking was Emily's mother, yet she had the same way to gesture and talk, the same gracile and imposing appearance. There was a girl standing next to her. She wasn't older than sixteen and the spitting but younger image of Lillian. Henriette, Richard remembered the name of Emily's younger sister. In some years she'd be a beautiful woman, yet so different from Emily, day and night, light and darkness. "I would like to thank everyone for accepting the invitation to this very special occasion." Despite Lucinda's low protest, Richard pushed forward to get a better sight, stopping when he eventually saw her. His heart stopped, too. She was so beautiful, the most beautiful creature ever. She smiled while her mother talked, Richard had no idea what Lillian was saying, her voice became just a background noise and his senses reduced to vision. That dress, it was gorgeous. Just like her jewellery and hair, like everything. Robbing Fort Knox suddenly wasn't so far off. Anything she wanted, anything, if she only looked into his direction and smiled at him.

Emily didn't. Her mother closed her speech and the people raised their glasses. "To Emily", it sounded through the hall, then she and her father opened the dance floor with a waltz. After all Emily had told him about Baldwin Johnson, Richard had imagined him to look different. He didn't look like the person she had described, a person who'd spent days on a Parisian bench and waited for Picasso. He didn't look like an artist, but more like a British banker, tall and slim, a grey double-row tailcoat, carefully cut and combed white hair. But then Baldwin at least had the same eyes as Emily, dark and lively, at least the eyes told about the family bonds. Emily smiled during the entire dance, she smiled while her father kissed her hand and they left the floor. People rowed up to congratulate her and she still smiled.

"Excuse me", Richard told Lucinda and paved the way to Emily. Patiently he waited his turn to wish her a happy birthday. He did it with a kiss on the hand. "I hope you'll concede me the favour to dance with me later", he added, searching for joy of seeing him in her face. All she did however was to keep smiling the same smile she'd been smiling during the entire evening.

"I'd love to", additionally she nodded politely and before he'd the chance to add something, she turned to the person next to him and allowed the Rock Hudson look-alike to kiss her hand, just like she granted him a dance as well. Richard gnashed his teeth and walked away, yet he stayed close enough to watch the scene and count the kisses on the hand, the promises to dance. After some minutes he felt the urgent need to strangle some of the congratulators, at least the male ones, especially the abnormal number of Hudson, Gable and Bogart clones slavering onto the back of Emily's hand. Even he had followed the proper procedure to not touch her skin with his lips, while all those ill-bred apple polishers practically licked her hand. She would have to sanitize it afterwards, if she didn't want to catch numerous viral infections.

Richard's look laid on her during the entire procedure of shaking hands, accepting kisses on the hand, birthday wishes and invitations to dance. He practically stared at her - for everybody to see. It was exactly the reaction Emily had hoped for, the first height of the day. Eventually something turned out like it was supposed to be. She fought with herself whether to look at him or not, eventually deciding to refrain from looking as long as the people were still congratulating. As soon as the last one had put his lips onto the back of her hand, she excused herself to powder her nose. Despite it was a detour to the bathroom, Emily made sure she'd pass Richard. Some men and women stopped her on her way, compliments and small talk, and she stopped here and there to have an excuse to implicate Richard in a talk. Although he wasn't more than 15 feet away, it took her almost 15 minutes until she eventually was next to him. He didn't move during the entire time.

"I hope you enjoy yourself", she smiled at him, yet avoiding his direct gaze.

"Not as much as you, I guess", was the answer, it sounded a bit sharp, not a bit like she'd imagined it to be. "But then there aren't dozens of women paying their respect to me", he continued.

She knit her brows. "I don't understand", she stated low and sorted her facial features back to a noncommittal smile.

"That makes two of us", Richard folded his arms, staring into the room.

"That makes two of us?", she asked without stopping to smile. He wished she did. He wished she'd give him something to orient at.

"Two wandering about aimlessly and uncomprehending in this swamp of hypocrisy and licentiousness."

"What are you talking about Richard?"

"Can't you tell?"

"I wouldn't ask, if I could tell", she replied, her voice had lost its kindness and sounded sharp, the smile remained though.

"Well, then I'll tell you", he said. "I'll tell you that I have no idea why you invited me or wanted me to be here, if you're apparently plan on making out with every guy but me tonight."

"This is ridiculous, Richard."

"Is it? Is it ridiculous, Emily?"

"Of course it is", she assured him hurt.

He took a deep breath. Lucinda waved to him with a broad smile from a short distance. Anything Emily could do, he could do better. "As much as I'd love to continue this chat", he hence told her and waved back. She followed his gaze and for a short moment her face clouded. Not a second and the impersonal and polite, this goddamn smile was back. He hated it when she did that. This wasn't their first date. He wasn't just any guy. "I already neglected my date in an inexcusable way to watch your little mass tryst."

"You can't leave me standing in the middle of a conversation", she spit while Richard walked away. "Richard", she hissed even lower, but he didn't react.

Richard bit on his tongue as he watched Preston Meyer. He held her too close, his hand, his goddamn hand slipped from her upper back down to her bottom line while he whispered something into Emily's ear. He whispered and she laughed. She laughed, apparently not even considering removing the hand from the place where it most certainly did not belong. Richard pulled Lucinda Lester a little closer. She smelled like musk and sweat, much too sweet and he started to take short and flat breaths. Emily didn't even notice, probably she enjoyed Preston's hand feeling her up too much to even care about him or what he did. Preston Meyer. Richard tried to remember what Lucinda had told him about that guy earlier. Nothing of importance. Nothing that would've entitled him to fiddle about Emily.

The song was over and he laid Lucinda to rest with relief in order to join the polite applause. From the corner of his eye he noticed how Preston bowed and put a kiss onto Emily's hand. He said something and she laughed again. The band started to play a new song and Emily danced with another guy while Preston made his way towards the refreshment bar.

"What about a drink?", Richard asked without looking at Lucinda, but kept staring at Emily and her new dance partner. Lucinda declined and excused herself to powder her nose. Good, he thought and strolled to the bar. Emily's current dancing partner kept his hands in place so far. He didn't know the wannabe Bogart, but he didn't look very trustable though and Richard decided to keep an eye on him while he got himself a drink.

"Good score", a fellow named Marc - or was it Michael? Mickey? Richard couldn't remember - Brown toasted Preston Meyer.

"More than that", he grinned self-contented. "She's butter in my hands."

"If you say so, Meyer", another guy replied and Richard stepped a little closer.

"I say so", Preston nodded. "She practically threw herself around my neck."

"Still I wouldn't be too sure. She's hard nut to crack. Ask Robert Tadman."

"Tadman's a naught", he giggled and sipped at his drink. "No wonder he didn't get her. She needs a real man, if you know what I mean."

"And you are the real one?"

"Of course I am. Besides Johnson, my father and I had a drink at the club the other day. It was quiet obvious he wouldn't mind an alliance of our families. And I wouldn't mind either. She has money, she has reputation, she has a nice butt", there was laughter. "I'd be a jerk to throw her out of bed."

"First she has to crawl into your bed, Preston", Mark/Michael/Mickey stated.

"Give me some more dances and her some drinks and by midnight I'll have her eating out of my hand", he lowered his voice and gestured the others to come closer. They followed him with curious anticipation, so did Richard. "I swear - the way she just pressed her body against mine - there's a prurient volcano seething under the surface. Girls like her only wait for a guy who knows how to take them. Shag them thoroughly one time and a nice blow-job later you're humping them in your marriage-bed."

The three men started to laugh again and Richard cleared his throat which caused the little group to face him. "Mind if I join the discussion?", he asked with a smile and put his glass onto the tray of a waiter.

There was a loud bang, broken glasses and silver on the floor, appalled shrieks and the squeak of a bow on the strings of a violin as the band stopped to play. Emily turned around just in time to see how Preston Meyer recovered from the refreshment bar and practically flew through the air, his fist reached out to hit his adversary. An adversary who was no one less than Richard as she realized in shock, unable to decide if she was relieved by the fact he saw Meyer coming and avoided his bash while he landed a straight left into his stomach which was followed by a hook on the chin, another one on the nose and caused Preston to crush into the bar once more.

"Bastard", he hissed and jumped up. This time Richard wasn't able to dodge, Preston Meyer's head hit his stomach and both men the floor. They trundled, everyone trying to get the upper hand and over the other one, fists flew, the sound of bones on bones, flesh on flesh and angry moans filled the air until some other male guests eventually managed it to get and keep them apart.

"I'm not finished with you, yet", Preston yelled with heavy breath, blood streaming out of his deformed nose, over his lips and chin and onto the white tie and shirt, still he didn't fight the grasp of Murray Brown and Alan Lother who'd grabbed his arms and pulled him back.

"You better keep your tongue in check and your slack Baby fists in your pockets", Richard shouted back. "Otherwise your mother will have to pick you up in a casket later tonight."

Preston made a throaty noise. "Don't make me laugh. I'll smash you to bits before you even can spell the word "Mommy"."

"Don't you -"

He was interrupted by the clapping of two hands. "Gentlemen, please", Carl Johnson said with a gentle voice. "Come to your senses. This is hardly the time and place for a fight. Shake your hands and apologize like two civilized men would do."

"Hell will I do to shake the hand of this raffish mob", Richard freed himself and gave Preston an angry look. He turned around and walked through the parting crowd. "We're going", he barked at Lucinda Lester as he passed her.

Lucinda took a step back. "It's better you go alone", she said with a smile that gave away a mixture of anxiety and disgust.

"Alright", he shook his head, there was a short laugh. "Enjoy your stay", Richard added and left the ballroom with a swift but proud pace.

Emily looked after him with flickering eyes. Her heart had stopped beating, her lungs breathing and the old air burned in her chest, anger in her entire body. Paralyzed she watched how their personal physician Dr. Kingston hurried to Preston Meyer and guided him towards the kitchen. Everybody watched. There was an agitated murmur in the room and she heard words like "impossible", "indecorous", "uncouth" and "lout". She took a few steps back and pressed herself against the wall, eventually inhaling sharply. She could feel her pulse in her temples, loud and unpleasant. First he'd snapped at her without any reason and now he had picked a fight. Richard had picked a fight. He wasn't supposed to pick a fight. He was supposed to smile and dance and make a good impression. Anything but picking a fight. Anything but ruining everything. And he had. He had ruined everything within some heartbeats and punches.

Richard changed gears and stepped on the gas pedal. It gave him an odd sense of satisfaction to see how the needle of the speedometer jumped up and the engine howled. His eyes wandered from the speed indicator to the driveway again. He saw her entering the street from a distance, her hands on her hips. She didn't make the slightest afford to avoid the Pontiac. He applied the brakes, a small roll only and the car stopped. Good brakes, it crossed his mind as he turned off the car, a good investment of his parents. Then he flung the door open.

"Have you lost your mind?", he yelled and jumped out of the car. "I could've run you down."

"I?", she replied little lower. "If someone has lost his mind it's definitely you. Speeding on a slip road at 70 miles an hour. You don't speed on a slip road, everybody knows that. There could've been children playing and you would've floored those poor little things without even noticing it."

"It's almost midnight, Emily. Children don't play on driveways in the middle of the night. Children are in bed and asleep in the middle of the night. Besides there were no children. There are no children on this property at all and hence your charge is out of thin air and completely unsustainable."

"It is not!", she disagreed with burning cheeks. "Our neighbours have children and they're roaming the area constantly. There are dozens of people in the mansion and one of them could've been on the way. I've been on the way and you almost ran_** me**_ down."

"Almost", he shouted. "I stopped in time."

"That's not the point, Richard! You don't speed from the first."

"As long as there are no speed limit signs I can drive as fast as I want."

"You can not. Not on a private property which isn't yours."

"So what? Is the traffic police going to jump out of the bushes and arrest me now?"

"Apparently this is a joke to you", she folded her arms and gave him a look that could kill.

"It is indeed funny how you're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"I'm most certainly not!"

"Of course you are. Nothing happened. I stopped. You're not even having the slightest scratch."

"Maybe I don't", she snorted. "Yet Preston Meyer does. Actually he has more than one."

"Preston Meyer doesn't have scratches because I sped on the driveway."

"Right", she answered angrily. "He has scratches because you beat him up."

"I did not beat him up."

"You broke his nose", she exclaimed.

"I did not break his nose. I didn't even come close to his nose."

"Of course you did. The poor guy looks like he's been stamped down by an entire herd of bulls unless there wasn't a herd but only one weak-headed defector."

"If you pity that spineless cretin that much, you better go and vet him. I'm sure he wouldn't object playing doctor."

"It's you who needs the doctor more", she hissed. He really didn't look much better she only realized now. His upper lip was burst and his right eye started to engorge, the eyebrow above it was covered with a thick crust of drying blood, even a thick red train had made its way down his check and onto his shirt. "Get into the car", she demanded.

"What?"

"You understood me perfectly", she shooed him. "Get into the car", she walked around the car. "Now", she added sharp because he didn't move.

"Why should I?"

"Because I say so", Emily got onto the front passenger's seat.

"Because I say so", he mocked her with held breath, yet meeting the demand. "Satisfied?"

Emily reached for the seatbelt. "Pull the car off the driveway."

"As you wish", he rolled his eyes and started the engine.

"Stop", she told him when the car rolled.

"What is now?", he mumbled annoyed.

"You don't drive unfastened."

"You don't drive unfastened?", he asked bewildered.

"Fasten your seatbelt."

"For an eighty foot trip?"

"Fasten it."

"This is a private ground."

"Unless you happen to have a reliable statistic with you which proves that there never has been a car accident on private ground you're going to fasten your seatbelt now, Richard."

"Eighty feet, Emily."

"Fasten your seatbelt."

"This is simply. You are so -", he tug at the belt and closed it with a click. "Happy?"

"This isn't about my happiness Richard, but your safety", she folded her arms and stared out of the window. "Would you get that damn car off the driveway now?", she told him as he made no attempts to start the engine again.

"As you wish", he eventually drove it to the roadside.

"Thank you", she opened her belt again. "And now let me see this", she turned towards him.

"Ouch", he twitched in pain and surprise, when he felt her fingers next to the laceration over his left eye.

"You deserve that", she remarked untouched and longed for his handkerchief. "Spit onto it."

"Excuse me?"

"I have to remove the blood to see the actual damage."

"I most certainly will not spit onto my handkerchief in front of you."

"Alright", she shrugged her shoulders and started to remove the half dried blood without the help of liquid.

"Damn", he answered the piercing pain and hastily turned his head away. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"In spite of the fact that I feel like it: No", she put a hand on his chin and turned his face towards hers. Once more she put the textile onto the wound, just like he turned away once more. "Richard please, you've got to hold still."

"I'm trying to", he said just to dodge as soon as he felt another wave of pain.

"Hold still!"

He clenched his teeth. "I am."

"Damn it!", she exclaimed as he twitched back again, did it with a small whine. "Stop moving!"

"I maybe would be able to, if you wouldn't rub that handkerchief over my eyebrow like it was a washboard", he stated.

"I'm most certainly not."

"Of course you are", he stared out of the window. "And it hurts."

"Of course it hurts, if you constantly keep moving your head", she sighed. "Come on, Richard, how old are you? Ten? Act like the man who just fractionalized my parent's ballroom".

Emily almost had to crawl onto his lap to get hold of his chin and turn his face towards her with gentle power. Yet this time Richard didn't move, but suffered the procedure silently. He closed his eyes while she removed the blood from his face, from his right eyebrow and lid, the cheek, the corner of his mouth. Despite there was a wave of pain running through his body every now and then he started to enjoy it up to a certain point. Sure, he hadn't planned to feel her body against his while she'd vet him after a fight, but then it didn't matter why as long as he felt her like that and her smell lulled him comforting.

"I don't think it has to be stitched", Emily stated after she'd removed most of the blood from his skin and carefully ran a finger over the wound on his eyebrow. "I'm no doctor though", she added and broke the contact. "Would you please explain me now why you did it?"

"I didn't know traffic rules have such a meaning to you."

"I'm not talking about your speeding - which was irresponsible - but the scene you made."

"I wasn't making a scene", he protested.

"What would you call your insufferable behaviour then?"

"It'd call it picking a fight. Not a scene. Women make scenes. Men fight."

Emily moaned annoyed. "He must've pinched you harder than I thought."

"No matter how hard he pinched me, I pinched him harder."

"I don't care who pinched harder. I care to know why you did it", he didn't reply. "Richard!", she called out. "You either talk to me now or I'll leave this car and my back will be the last thing you see of me for the rest of your life."

"You never -"

"What has gotten into you for heaven's sake?"

"Nothing", he murmured a little sheepish.

"Nothing?", her voice got louder again. "You got into a fight because of nothing?"

"Nothing which is your business."

"I beg your pardon, but this is my parent's property and house and my birthday party and hence it's very much of my business to know why you acted like a rabid bull in a china shop."

"I did not -"

"Of course you did!", she interrupted him. "And I demand a further explanation. You _owe _me a further explanation."

"That jerk didn't deserve better."

"Preston Meyer is a very nice man Richard and I'm sure he didn't do anything which made him deserve to be attacked by you."

"How can you defend him? You don't even know what happened."

"Because you won't tell me what happened."

"I wouldn't tell you he deserved it, if he wouldn't have deserved it. And he deserved it", he gnashed his teeth. "God, this double-faced boaster truly deserved it to be made mincemeat of and be fed to the animals."

"Richard!"

"It's true, Emily. That guy isn't worth a Penny and I don't want you to talk or get closer than a mile to him ever again."

"I can talk and get close to whoever I want."

"Not if you don't want me to break his neck for good."

"Oh my God", scales fell from her eyes. "This is ridiculous. You can't even - I didn't even talk to him tonight."

"Of course you did."

"Two or three sentences, Richard."

"Two or three sentences and a very close dance."

"I danced with a lot of men tonight."

"He felt you up, Emily."

"He did not."

"And his hand on your lower body was a mirage? I had some drinks tonight, Emily, but not enough to don't know what I'm seeing. He groped you and you allowed him to."

"I -", she tried to reply something, but wasn't able to get a word in edgeways.

"You should've heard him talking afterwards, Emily", he gathered momentum. "This narcistic babbling of how he'd get you, how he already has you and would take you and -", he stopped. "His choices of words and the lack of respect they showed. It was a case of Hobson's choice to squash him. He deserved every bash and more."

"I don't want you to bash anyone because of me", she replied low.

"I did what I had to do. What every man would do. It's a point of honour."

"Point of honour", she snorted. "This is dumb."

"How on earth can it be dumb to defend your girl?"

"How on earth will I be able to explain my mother I'm dating the guy who blew my birthday party up? She'll never allow me to date you ever. Not after tonight, Richard. And if I hadn't known you before, I never would want to date you. Heaven knows I never would even waste a second considering dating a guy who behaved like that."

"I'll explain to her why I did it."

"Just like you explained it to me? You had better not expect her to fling her arms around your neck thankfully and allow me to date you then."

"Even if - you're twenty-one. You can date who you want, Emily."

"You're twenty-one as well. You can date who you want too and yet we're still playing hide-and-seek. I'm so sick of it Richard."

"I'm not enjoying it either. But we agreed to -"

"That was months ago", she cut him off. "It was before everything got so - before I -", she stopped. "My whole life is a mess because of you and I don't want it to be. I want things to be proper and normal and organized. I don't like to lie. I don't like to see you every other week only. I don't like to miss you and I do. I do constantly. The longer it goes the worse it gets and I don't know how to handle it. I don't know how to handle not having control and it freaks me out that I don't. This whole mess freaks me, Richard. I'm not the person I am anymore and I can't do that any longer, not if I don't want to go mad. I just can't."

"Emily", he took her hand and ran his thumb over it. He didn't know what to say. "Emily", he therefore repeated and stroke her cheek, a soft kiss onto it.

"And now?", she turned her face away. "You kiss me and everything is alright again? You never started that stupid fight and we're a couple like every other?"

"No", he shook his head. "But -"

"But", she shook her head. She couldn't hear it any more. But. There was always something, always this but. "Good night, Richard", she opened the door and vanished in the darkness.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: Um. Well. I know. Long time no update. I was busy and simply not in the mood to write, call it writer's block. The few reviews vs. the hits weren't much of a motivation to sit down and try either. Well, I'm over the annoyance, the words flowed again and that's the result. I hope you like it. 

Thanks to the VT's, especially to Mel.


	23. Going Once, Going Twice

**Going Once, Going Twice**

Richard took a last look into the driving rearview mirror. This was his very own horror movie and he was the star. He looked awful. His right eye did, a swollen mountain of flesh which gleamed in an intense shading of black and purple. At least his swollen lip had gone back to normal during the day. He didn't consider himself as a vain man, yet he always paid attention to a neat appearance. Looking like the victim of a pub brawl wasn't exactly how he defined neat, even the custom-made suit didn't sanitize the public image of him back to respectable and Richard was about to leave. But then he couldn't wait until his face would look normal again. Heaven knew how long it would take and he hadn't the time. The only proper time to do it was now. Otherwise, he was afraid, the damage would be irrepealable.

"It's what's inside that counts", he told his pretty ugly reflection with a sigh. Beautiful inside which acts like a drunken cad, a voice in his head mocked him with a silver laugh. Yet it had felt so right to lam Preston Meyer and he would do it again within a second. Meyer hadn't deserved better. Nobody was entitled to touch Emily but him. Nobody to talk about her this way - not even him. The thought of Meyer by itself was enough to set a wave of anger free and Richard made fists. Yes, Meyer had deserved every punch. Only he had to work on his defense to ride the next time out. The next time. There wouldn't be a next time if he didn't eventually get out of the car. And right or wrong: Nothing it seemed, there was nothing he would be able to score within the eyes of a woman right now. They didn't understand that a fist sometimes was the only proper argument. A shame the days of duels were over. Hundred years ago he would've been able to cut Meyer low with a nice and socially perfectly accepted swordplay. A glove and the floor and here we go.

Richard let out another sigh. "Here _you_ go", he forced himself to get out of the car and walked towards the Johnson residence in single file, a last time going over the little speech he had prepared.

It was a different maid who opened the door today and looked rather irritated at his swollen eye while he introduced himself and asked to see Mr. Johnson.

"One moment please, Mr. Gilmore", she told him with a polite smile and closed the door. Nervously Richard held his breath. A last time to go through the speech while he prayed Emily wouldn't see or even walk into him as he waited. He'd loved to see her beautiful face, sure. But he didn't want her to ask questions without having answers. He wanted to tell her everything was back to normal when he saw her the next time. Well, as normal as it could get under these circumstances, their twisted circumstances. He understood why she didn't like the collusiveness as he didn't like it either. He understood why she hated it more as more time passed. It was the only way they could go though.

It seemed like an eternity until the maid eventually came back and asked Richard in. She guided him through the long hall into a messy study where the walls and floors, every free spot as it seemed was covered with canvas. Even though he would have loved to, Richard hadn't the time to take a closer look at the paintings as they passed the room rather fast and entered a generous conservatory which had been turned into a studio.

"Mr. Gilmore is here, Mr. Johnson", the maid curtsied and vanished.

"Who?", a deep voice asked and Richard looked around, eventually discerning a compact shape kneeling over a canvas that drizzled a deep pink onto the plain which looked like the scale model of a winterly mountainscape.

"Gilmore", he stated, a sudden feeling of bias in his chest, the feeling to be six years and at the school enrolment again. "Richard Gilmore."

Baldwin started to circle the paint pot and another thin spurt pink mingled with the white. "I don't know a Richard Gilmore", he stated distracted by the unsatisfying outcome of the sunset clouds.

"No", he answered. "At least not personally. But we saw each other at your daughter's birthday party yesterday. You tried to make me see reason again after this unpleasant incident."

"Which incident?", he jumped onto his feet and put the pink away, scratching his head and taking a look at Richard.

"The quarr-", he stopped confused. The man he was looking at definitely wasn't Emily's father. At least not the man he'd thought of to be her father. The man in front of him didn't look dignified at all. Actually scruffy was the first adjective that came to Richard's mind. He wore baggy clothes dotted with paint, so was his face, fingers and spare blonde hair that stuck out in all cardinal points. He was small, probably not taller than Emily and the size was probably the only thing they had in common. He looked exactly like the man she'd described him and not like the business man he'd seen yesterday. This man definitely wasn't the man who'd danced with Emily and stepped in between him and Preston Meyer the other day. He wasn't the man he came for and Richard felt blood surging to his face. Another faux pas. Past remedy. "I-", he started without the slightest idea how to fix the mess. Actually he didn't believe there was a way anymore.

"Interesting colouring", Baldwin stated fascinated and took a step forward, staring at Richard's damaged eye. "The mauve reminds me of Monet's water lilies."

"Thank you… I guess", Richard murmured puzzled.

"Very strong colour. Did you know the first colorant was mauvein actually? Aniline and potassium dichromat", Baldwin took some white paint again. "I coloured my canvas with mauvein and other colorants some years ago and had the most astonishing results. The colour effect on the background differed completely", he poured the white over the pink. "Do you paint?"

"Oh no, I don't. I probably haven't since kindergarten", Richard waved aside. "I love art though", he added hastily. "Especially the old Italian masters: Titian, Raphael and Michelangelo. Da Vinci. Romano and Puligo."

"Other countries had gifted painters too. Take Rubens. Think of Dürer."

"Well, ye-"

Baldwin ignored him. "Many of your Italian masters adored him and never reached his technique or versatility. They hardly looked beyond religion, mythology and the usual money bringing portraits."

"I beg to differ", he answered, forgetting the actual reason for his visit for a moment to defend his beloved artists. "Da Vinci for example was more than a painter. He was a scientist and visionary - I'd even call him a genius."

"Da Vinci", Baldwin snorted and rolled the canvas, causing white and pink splashes to sprinkle everything around him, including himself and Richard's toe-caps. He got ready for a sweeping statement on Leonardo Da Vinci as he did.

"Dinner is ready, Mr. Johnson", the maid interrupted the heated discussion between the two men.

"Dinner", Baldwin grunted snidely and gestured the young girl to leave the studio.

"Mrs. Johnson asked me to remind you your guest might be hungry", she replied shyly.

"Are you?", he asked Richard who hesitated. The temptation to see Emily was big. Then he hadn't brought forward his excuses yet, but spent the last hours discussing European art. He hardly could just show up at dinner as if nothing had happened. If he apologized before dinner however - Richard nodded slowly.

"A small snack wouldn't be amiss."

"Well then", Baldwin beat his pipe and got up. "Tell my wife we'll join dinner."

"Yes, Mr. Johnson", she curtsied and left backwards.

"Before we have dinner, I'd like to tell you the actual reason for my visit", Richard said.

"Right, right", his opposite murmured without real interest. "And when you do start talking you also can tell me how you can prefer classicism over rococo as well. Classicism", a click with his tongue, rolling eyes.

Richard couldn't help to smile. Maybe not the looks, but this was Emily. He cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate at once. "I actually came here to apologize for my behaviour during the party."

It took Baldwin some seconds to realize what Richard was talking about. "What did you do?", he asked.

"I -", Richard searched for the right words, wondering how Baldwin Johnson couldn't know about it. He'd been sure the news of the fight had pervaded to the Australia bush already and at least. "I was in a fight with Preston Meyer. Actually I started it", he said rather dumb, annoyed by the fact the right, those perfect words he'd thought about the entire night and day were gone and his mind an empty page full of interrogation points and the letters H, E, L, P; R, U and N; F and A and S and T.

"That was you?", he asked. This morning Lillian had made a huge fuss about that brawl. The brawl and the fact he hadn't attended the party, but experimented in his studio the entire night. His wife simply didn't understand he was on the brink of the breakthrough. Cream out of paint. Clouds out of it. A revolution. "My wife mentioned something", he understated.

So he did know. "Well", he pointed at his eye, an excusing shrug with the shoulders. "It was me. I know it is inexcusable; however Meyer said some things I found absolutely unacceptable and hence lost my temper."

Baldwin nodded and peered at his current painting. "Listen Richard", he said. "It's not me you've to apologize to. I couldn't care less about such things. But my wife sure does, so tell her whatever you want during dinner."

"Of course I will apologize to her too", he reassured. "Yet she might not understand my reasons, therefore I hoped for your appreciation. Moreover it'd be rather objectionable to reconsider my motives with a Lady", Baldwin looked at him questioning and Richard gave a short account of the happenings, Meyer's rude behaviour. "You see", he added. "Your daughter and I had some dates last summer and I liked her. I still do, she's a very pleasant person and company", he realized he was starting to become too rhapsodic. "Even if I didn't like her - no man should talk about a respectable young woman in such a derogative way", he hence added as neutral as possible.

Baldwin pricked up his ears. "You and my daughter date?"

"We used to", he replied carefully.

"Why don't you anymore if you still like her as you say?"

"I, we - I don't know. It was -", Richard started to stammer. "But -"

"But. There mustn't be a but, if we don't want it to be", Baldwin jubilated, thanking God for the twist in fate. Carl had been more than annoying lately and now there suddenly was a young man standing in front of him who might be the solution for his problems. He hadn't lifted a finger, but the solution had walked into his studio on its own. Now he only had to talk his visitor into his eldest daughter (or the other one, after all he had two and it didn't matter which one, the result was all-dominant. At least Carl didn't get tired to point out) and he'd eventually have his peace and quiet again. "She is", he pondered a second. "Twenty-one after all and my wife was", he corrected himself. "My wife and I have been worried about her unmarried status for a while now. If you're still have an interest in her, you have my blessing."

"I have your blessing", Richard repeated bewildered by the sudden change.

"I know this wasn't the reason for your visit, yet I ask you to consider the idea. Our family is more than respectable and so is the marriage portion", he tried to sound like his brother.

Richard didn't believe his ears. Just some hours ago he'd thought he'd never get the approval of Emily's parents after the incident at the party and there was her father, practically trying to sell his daughter to him like a marketer his goods.

"Don't you think Emily might have something to say about this too?", he couldn't help to ask.

"Emily. Right", a short pause, a nod. That was indeed a small flaw. But then nobody had asked him if he wanted to marry Lillian either. And peace. If he'd only get his peace again. No more calls and letters and visits and threats. "Well", he smiled. "As I already said - there mustn't be a but if we don't want it to be. So, what do you say?"

"I'm not sure", he answered insecure.

Going once, going twice, Baldwin's mind shouted. Yes, Richard's screamed. This was perfect. Baldwin made a match between two persons who hadn't to be matched anymore and yet everybody would think it'd been an arranged relationship. Nobody would be able to have any suspicions. "This is a very surprising offer. But then she's quiet attractive and nice and if she's really the good catch you claim her to be this suggestion is worth to be considered", he tried to sound as unbiased as possible. "I don't want to give you a covenant until I have the chance to spend some more time with your daughter, still it'd be a lie if I'd say I'm not interested - more than interested."

Sold to the man with the mauve eye. Baldwin grinned. This was perfect. "Wonderful", he patted Richard's shoulder. "You can start spending time with her during dinner", he continued happily. His younger brother would look surprised as soon as he'd reveal he'd managed it to arrange a marriage without his help. "And afterwards we'll clarify how you can find any pleasure in classicism", he turned to the really interesting things in life again, unable to feel pretty proud.

To be continued

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ATN: I know this chapter is rather short, yet the suspense arc asked for it. After all I want you to stay intrigued. So enjoy everyone and thank you for the lovely reviews (No, I'm not talking about you Cira :P)! 

_**Ellie wrote**:__ "You've written: "even a thick red train had made its way down his check and onto his skirt". I really hope you meant shirt and not skirt because Richard in a kilt! That would be really priceless!"_

_**I say:** No. There was no kilt. Trouser, trouser, trouser and a nice s**h**irt. Mean mix up of letters. Beta didn't see it. Bad Beta. No more cookies for you!_

_**Mel states**: Skirt, shirt…it's all the same. Sorry! I can't believe I missed that!!! I'll just blame it on turning 40. My eyes aren't what they used to be ;)._

You're still the best Beta in the world. Thanks! Else: more patience please, Ellie - it's only January 6th after all ;)


	24. The Big Hangover

**The Big Hangover**

This wasn't Emily Johnson. It wasn't Emily Johnson to wake up with a cotton mouth and temples pounding with sledgehammers. It wasn't Emily Johnson to wake up with eyes still red from the tears that'd cried her into sleep, just to have the raw organs fill with the salty liquid again as soon as she opened them after a dreamless sleep. It wasn't Emily Johnson to wake and jump up with a vellicating gullet and run to the bathroom. It wasn't Emily Johnson to hug cold porcelain with welding sputters on her pale forehead and feed the white telephone with the acidulated relicts of drinks she didn't even remember having drunk. It wasn't Emily Johnson to sob during the entire process and even afterwards while she had a shower, trying to wash away the evaporations of champagne, wine and sweet liquor her body seemed to give off with every pore. It wasn't Emily Johnson to feel simply miserable, miserable enough to not see any comforting order in the chaos. She missed him. She missed him and felt sorry for having yelled at him in the car. She was so angry at him and hated him for the fight he'd started out of the most stupid reasons. It was all so odd. How could she miss and love - was it love? - him while she resented and hated - was it hate? - him at the same time? Emily Johnson wasn't used to this rollercoaster of feelings, even though the past months had sent her through many emotional ups and downs. And she was sick of it. It'd been right to tell him how sick she was of it. After all it wasn't Emily Johnson to play this sort of games. Yet. Well yet, if it was the only way to be with Richard, she'd continue to play. Emily's head spun. She couldn't continue to play. It was all so - she didn't want to. She had to. She had to be with him. It was all she thought about. Him. Richard. Richard and Richard and Richard. It was so transparent, it was more than ridiculous. She hated to. She hated. She loved. And everything spun and didn't stop twirling.

Somehow she managed to dress after another fit of sickness and cursing her mirror image. Breakfast was a sad affair like every meal lately. The father was absent, the sisters remained silent and Lillian rolled her eyes upon their childish behaviour, while she didn't stop talking about their acting and - of course - the party. Alone the word party made Emily feel even sicker and when her mother started to rant about the brawl, she was about to jump up and give into the bothersome demands of her breakfast and tears to see daylight again. Instead she closed her eyes for a second. Fuzzy stars danced in front of her closed lids and she swore she'd never ever get close to anything which contained alcohol, not even cough syrup or Boeuf Stroganoff. It even hadn't been that much alcohol. Just some champagne and a glass of red wine. She tried to remember. Two or three chilled vodkas - maybe four - and the sweet liquor from the pocket flask Melinda used to have in her handbag. Melinda. She'd been about to tell her everything after the fight with Richard, especially as her friend's jokes about the whole incident and the possible reasons were damn close to the truth. Too damn close. Just as close as she and Benjamin had been standing during the firework at midnight, his arms wrapped around his fiancées waist and his chin resting on her shoulder while they'd watched the beautiful display. Emily had felt jealousy again, jealousy and loneliness. It'd been then when she'd walked back inside the building and got herself the first vodka. It'd been later, when everybody was gone already, that she and Melinda had backed out to her room and emptied the pocket flask while Melinda joked and guessed and almost made Emily talk.

She swallowed and opened her eyes again. Her mother gave her a disapproving look as she still looked like she felt. Therefore, she pulled herself together and had a go at polite table conversation and emptying her dish. She even addressed Henriette every now and then, but her sister made no attempt to pay regard to her.

"Hopie", she stated on their way upstairs after breakfast. If nothing else, at least this had to be fixed. "Henriette, please. This isn't a state to be in. You can't possibly treat me like this forever." There was no answer. Her little sister didn't show the slightest sign she'd even heard her. "Please", she begged and touched her shoulder. "Please, Hopie, please. I never wanted to lie to you and I'm sorry I did. Yet I had to."

Henriette snorted and made a hasty move to get rid of her sister's hand. "Someone should tell the maids to scatter raticide, those beasts are a real pain in the ass lately."

Emily stopped and watched how Henriette approached her room with a steady pace. "Fine", she murmured. "Thank you", she added, her voice oozing with sarcasm. "Thank you very much", she shouted when Hopie slammed her door and the noise sent a piercing flash through her head. She rubbed her forehead and walked into her room too, where she dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, drifting into sleep every now and then, skipping lunch under the pretext of writing thank you notes.

Richard Gilmore felt rather nervous when Baldwin and he walked towards the dining room. He had no idea how Emily would react or how he was supposed to act. When he saw her sitting at the table, he was about to take his heels. He caught her gaze and unlike yesterday she wasn't able to hide her actual feelings, but looked at him with discomposure and surprise. For a brief moment he thought there even was a flash of joy in her eyes. Richard smiled at her. She looked pale and as she hardly wore make-up he saw something like dark shadows under her eyes for the very first time. Generally she looked different today, younger than usual, almost weak and so fragile. She looked beautiful in the most innocent way. Beautiful and a little tired. If he hadn't known Emily better, he would've said almost hangoverish.

As Baldwin made no real attempt to introduce him to his family (not that Richard needed any introduction to Emily), Richard cleared his throat and offered Lillian Johnson his hand. "Richard Gilmore", he said and tried to look as sympathetic as possible. "Thank you for the friendly invitation, Mrs. Johnson."

Lillian raised a brow and scrutinized his damaged eye. "You're welcome", she answered rather icily. "But please take your seat", she pointed at an empty chair next to Emily. "Dinner has been ready to be served for a while now", she added with a reproachful look at Baldwin.

"Thank you", Richard bowed and walked to his chair. "Hello", he greeted Emily and felt her eyes glued to his shiner as well. You look horrible, her look seemed to say. It said something else he couldn't interpret properly (after they'd been married for a while, he knew the glance perfectly. She had it whenever she suspected him - or later their daughter - to hatch a cold and was about to lay a hand on his forehead to check the temperature).

"You look horrible", Emily's sister enunciated what lay in the air and the couple averted their gaze. It had lasted too long anyways.

"Henriette", Lillian told her off.

"But he does!"

"It's alright", Richard smiled at her. "I really do."

"Only if you're having an aversion to mauve", Baldwin interjected, once more adoring the colouring. He really had to work more with mauve.

Lillian rolled her eyes and Henriette giggled, while Emily hoped the ground would swallow her up. Why couldn't her father act normal just for once? Richard must think he was a total blockhead, just like he must think she looks horrible. Her clothes did, a simple white blouse and a beige skirt, nothing she ever would've worn in public. She never would have worn no make-up in public or tied her hair into this lousy braid as well. She looked like a nun on vacation. But then he looked like a defeated boxer and both applied another standard this evening. If only her father would act decent, she maybe would be able to get through without leaving an impression all too bad - and Richard without experiencing a shock. She wondered what he was doing here anyway.

"Despite I can tell that I have no aversion to mauve, I honestly can assure you my face is usually free from it and any other incongruous colouring", Richard turned to Lillian Johnson and answered Emily's unspoken question, while Henriette continued to giggle. "Just as I can assure you, Mrs. Johnson, how deeply sorry I am for my inexcusable acting at the party. I already told your husband about my reasons, but let me affirm you as well I had to act due to the occurrences. Yet, while I truly regret my choice of action, I do not regret the intervention per se."

Emily's heart jumped. He came to apologize. Of course he did. He tried to fix it. Best she would've thrown her arms around him.

"What occurrences might that have been, Mr. Gilmore?", her mother asked and by the curious expression in Hopie's face her sister was dying to know too.

Richard swallowed. "Preston Meyer broke every rule of modesty and society."

"I don't see how this is reason enough to break his nose under my roof, Mr. Gilmore", Lillian answered unaffected and Emily was about to die while Hopie had the time of her life.

"He vilified one of the women living under this roof."

"Even if I'd believe that a respectable gentleman like Preston Meyer would do that - why would you want to defend women you don't even know? Or is there some secret connection between our families I'm unaware of?"

Two hearts at the table stopped for more than a second. "Well", Richard cleared his throat. "Emily and I had a brief romantic relationship last summer", he said without thinking, did it under the pressure to say something at all and he regretted it at once. A brief romantic relationship. What stupid phrasing. "Although we realized we aren't meant to -", he tried to save the situation. "We -", he stopped.

"Are still friends", Emily ended with a hoarse voice.

"Aha", Lillian commented surprisingly short and rang a small silver bell. "Helena", she told the maid who'd entered the room before the last tone faded away. "Would you please serve the soup."

"Yes, Madam", Helena curtsied and vanished, leaving the group in a mist of silence. Lillian brooded about the meaning and physical extents of a romantic relationship nowadays, Richard and Emily about Lillian's possible thoughts and Henriette about the happenings within the last minutes. She couldn't make tails of it yet, but she was sure this was only the tip of the iceberg. So did Baldwin. This was more than just a normal dinner, it was the beginning of his new and free life. Everything was done and he had pulled the strings. Baldwin was very satisfied and implicated Richard in their talk about art again as soon as the soup had been served.

To the surprise of everyone he insisted on showing Richard the winterly park of their estate after dinner. Even more surprisingly he asked Emily to accompany them. The three got into their coats and entered the patio of the house, thereby Richard and Baldwin still discussed classicism or more exactly Adele Canterbury's works. They send clouds of their warm breath into the January air as they did, while Emily remained silent, adoring some of Richard's comments every now and then, trying to understand why her father had wanted to have a walk and her to join most of the time.

"Damn", Baldwin hissed and stopped all of sudden.

"Is everything alright, father?", Emily spoke her first words since they were outside.

He tapped his coat. "My pipe - I must've forgotten it inside", a sigh and a shrug with the shoulders, then he turned to Richard. "Excuse me for 20 minutes please", he said with a small wink. After all he had promised his young visitor some more time with his daughter and the earlier they started, the faster they'd get through with the rest. Oh, freedom for good.

"Of course", Richard answered with a small nod.

"And don't forget your last thought", Baldwin told him while he rushed of. "It was very interesting."

"Did he just wink at you?", Emily asked with held breath as soon as her father was out of hearing.

"I had that impression as well."

"Why would my father wink at you?"

Richard tried not to grin too much. "Because he promised me some time with you."

"He promised you some time with me?", she looked at the decreasing shape of her father as he approached the house. "Richard?", she faced him again, her forehead in wrinkles.

"Well", he scraped his head. "Do you want the long version or the short one?"

"The true one, Richard."

"I came to apologize, but instead we talked about art for a while."

"Typically", Emily snorted.

"And not the point", Richard continued. "The point is - when I finally had the chance to offer him my apologies, I told him what had happened yesterday and why I lost my head. And I let slip we dated last summer, that I still like you. I had to. If I didn't, I hardly would've been able to explain my reaction and even liking isn't a reasonable one. The next thing I know is that he asks me to consider a marriage with you. Of course I just couldn't hug him and accept gladly, but told him I couldn't make a decision before I had the opportunity to spend some more time with you."

"Are you seriously telling me my father is playing matchmaker?"

"Apparently he is very worried about your '_unmarried status' _as he put it."

She looked at him through the darkness, she just looked at him for an eternity. "Emily, please, I just -", he wanted to explain, but wasn't able to utter another word. She flung around his neck and he felt her mouth on his. Richard had already known she was able to kiss him in a more than passionate way. The thought of the kisses on his couch alone was enough to put him into a splendid state of excitement. Yet, the way she kissed him now, how her lips touched his and her tongue played with his, the way she ran her fingers over his neck and back and pressed her body, her breasts and lower abdomen against his, was something completely different and new. It was her who was proactive. For the very first time she'd made the first step and how she had done it - Richard felt deep satisfaction alongside his growing arousal. He couldn't tell how long the kiss lasted. It could've been minutes or hours. He could've continued for minutes and hours. Though he tried to ignore the burning in his lungs, he eventually had to break away and avidly inhaled the oxygen of the cold night air.

Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his chest.

"I guess that means you're fine with an arranged marriage after all", he whispered into her hair. "I swear, it was like a summer clearance sale."

She laughed and gently slapped his arm before she looked up. "As long as you're fine with it", she said as the facts slowly entered her awareness and laid a shadow over the happiness.

"It doesn't matter why, does it?"

Emily shook her head. "No", she told him low.

"What is it?", he enquired. It was hard for him to understand why she was so serious and contemplative all of sudden. What had happened to the woman hugging and kissing him just some seconds before.

"I don't know", Emily let go and started to walk again, her arms wrapped about her slim body and her heels scrunching in the snow. "It's just -"

"It's what?", Richard encouraged her to continue.

"I know I should be happy. And I am. I really am. It's just so - what if Preston would've been the first to come here and apologize?"

"He wasn't. It was me."

"And still -", she pressed her lips together. "_Summer clearance sale_", she murmured. "I'm no Cashmere pullover, Richard."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Of course you aren't", he said. "I never would want to be with a Cashmere pullover." He had hoped it would, but there wasn't even the slightest sign of a smile on her lips.

Thoughtfully Baldwin Johnson looked at his latest cloud painting. It didn't turn out how it was supposed to be. The colours didn't mingle how he wanted them to and if he'd dab on another coat of paint it'd probably fall off the canvas due to the weight.

"What could you have possibly been thinking?", Lillian Johnson stormed into her husband's studio and he almost swallowed his pipe. "Inviting this", she searched for the right word. "This _individual_ for dinner. I'm used to a lot from you, but that's outrageous!"

"It was you who insisted he'd join dinner as he might be hungry", he coughed with burning tears in his eyes.

"I had no idea it was this ruffian when I did. You should've thrown him out right away when he entered your fumed shed here". She hurried to the glass wall and opened one of the terrace doors. "One day you will choke on this poisonous mixture of smoke and paint fumes", she stated thereby, but he ignored, probably didn't even hear it as she stated it every time she entered is studio for the last quarter century.

"I had no idea who he was", Baldwin decided to answer her first reproach at last.

"You hadn't because you didn't attend your daughter's birthday party even though I asked you to do so beseechingly. We waited more than an hour for you, Baldwin!"

"You know how much I dislike these kinds of gatherings", he defended himself while he observed his pipe, putting it in his mouth again after he ascertained the tobacco was still glowing.

"It wasn't just any kind of gathering", Lillian reminded him impatiently, "It was your eldest daughter's birthday party. Her twenty-first and you promised to attend."

"Lillian, please", he sighed unnerved after some seconds with his wife already and puffed his pipe. "We discussed this already this morning."

"Where we discussed this awful brawl as well", she huffed. "But apparently you didn't listen to me. You never do."

A grin spread over Baldwin's face. "Even I listen to your babbling sometimes, Lillian", he stated and she let out an appalled snort. "And that's why I arranged everything", he continued hastily before his wife had a chance to interrupt him.

"You arranged what?"

"The marriage."

"The marriage?", Lillian almost screeched. "Baldwin! Don't you tell me -", she stopped and looked around. "Where's Emily, Baldwin? Where's this rapscallion?"

"Getting to know each other."

"Getting to know each other? Getting to know - Oh, Baldwin! Haven't you listened? Haven't you heard what he said during dinner?"

"Of course I did", he disagreed energetic. "And no matter how good his arguments were, Boucher wasn't more than a painting hobbyist."

"Baldwin!", she eventually cried out desperately. "Can't you forget this obsession of yours for just one second and think about the family? Think about our daughter?"

"But I just told you I did. You want her to be married, Carl wants her to be married. It's the only topic you two have been having for months", he waved aside. "Oh, what am I thinking? For years. Marriage and marriage and nothing else. Well, here you go. That Gilmore is very willing to take her and if she doesn't act all to schlemiel he probably will. I really don't see why you're turning into an Erinye even Orestes would've succumb for good."

"_A brief romantic relationship_. That's why! Heaven knows what he did with her, poor darling."

"Whatever he did, it entitles him to marry her even more."

"Baldwin!"

"Lillian", he covered his ears. "Lillian, please. I really do not have the energy or time to discuss this with you. If he wants her, he can have her and that's my last word about it."

"If you would've been at the party and seen how he battered poor Preston Meyer, you wouldn't talk like that."

"If you would've been close enough to _poor_ Preston Meyer while he declared our daughter would adopt his copulatory organ in every possible way, you definitely wouldn't be talking like that."

Lillian Johnson's jaw dropped open and her husband noted it with complacence. After all these years he eventually had bowled her over. This day was really more than good. Memorable, if he'd manage to finish his last cloud painting successfully.

Meanwhile Emily and Richard had reached a frozen pond. Although she held his hand, she was still close-lipped and seemed to stare behind everything and at nothing. With the urgent need to cheer her up and see her laugh, a small smile at least, Richard cleared his throat.

"It's beautiful", he stated. "You and Henriette must've spent a lot of time here as children, swimming in the summer, ice-skating in the winter."

There really was a smile playing around her lips as she imagined what must've happened that her mother would allow them to swim in a pond. "I can't tell if we did", she answered.

"Come on", he laid his arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder, just like Benjamin had done with Melinda the day before and Emily wished it was the day before and the firework would enlighten the pond and snowed area behind. "Not even sometimes? It's perfect, a children's paradise."

"It's a pond ducks swim in in summer. Ducks and numerous bacteria and germs. My mother never would've allowed us to swim in this brew, not to talk of ice-skating in winter. We could've broken a leg or even worse break in and drown."

"But it's fun."

"Fun", she shook her head. "We weren't raised like that, Richard. We were raised to be ladies, proper and prim. The perfect wives", there was a small pause. "Actually I'm supposed to be married for years. Married and the mother of the inheritor of the Johnson Trade. That's what it is all about and always has been and I think you should know that."

He tightened his embrace. "I don't think it's a problem, is it?"

"Isn't it?"

"I always wanted children. Don't you?"

"Two girls", she smiled. "Well, two girls and the inheritor."

"Doesn't sound like you're too crazy about a son."

"I've no influence on it, do I?"

"If you don't want a son, we won't procreate one."

"Don't you want one?"

"I've always been a ladiesman and living with three women sounds like heaven to me."

Emily laughed. He made it all sound so easy and she was apt to believe him it was. "Alright", she said. "But then there's another thing."

"You have my attention."

"Last summer, after the break-up with Robert, I went to see my uncle", she said. It was now or never to tell him everything and now that she'd already started it was easier than she had thought. "He'd fired him after our break-up and Robert literally would've ended up on the street without a job. I - it wouldn't have been fair, not because of me and because I suddenly changed my mind. So, I asked Carl to employ him again. He did. Under the condition I'd be married by my twenty-second birthday or he could choose any husband for me."

"And you're sure you aren't a Cashmere pullover?"

"Oh, Richard", she sighed unhappy.

"Emily", he turned her around and lifted her chin. "Stop breaking your beautiful head about it. It doesn't matter, because just today I happened to walk into your father's studio and I'm the one you've been sold to", she opened her mouth to reply something and he hurried to continue. "Sure, it could've been Preston Meyer - but it wasn't. And even if it were him, would you've married him?"

She inhaled deeply and eventually shook her head. "No", she murmured.

"Fine, because that's the only thing I would've had a problem with", Richard tautened his shoulders. "And now it's time to start the fun part of tonight, don't you think?", he stated with a mischievous smile, a wink.

Lillian Johnson hurried over the small garden path. "Richard, no!", she heard her daughter cry out in the darkness and hastened even though it was followed by laughter. When she eventually arrived at the small pond, she saw two shadows sliding over the ice, the taller one pushing the smaller and lifting her up, a thud and even more laughter as they hit the ice.

"It serves you right", her daughter stated and was on her legs again within seconds, sliding some steps back as he straightened up too and started to hunt her over the pond again. Once more he picked her up, still they laughed and the troublemaker put a kiss on her daughter's hollow. "Emily!", Lillian shouted and the shadows froze.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: **Valerie** - very good question about the seatbelts. I haven't thought about it while writing, but did some research now. Due to wikipedia seatbelts were invented in the 1800s. Some cars already had belts in the 1950s and "most US automobiles were sold with front seat belts standard in the 1964 model year. Rear seat belts were made standard in 1968." As Richard got a 1964 Pontiac Grand Prix for Christmas and this car happens to have seatbelts by a very fortunate coincidence, I guess I can get through with it. Plus I also made sure it really has an end-to-end front seat ;) 

Thanks to** Mel** for squeezing this chapter into her busy life and taking the time to proofread. You probably have no idea how much I appreciate your work and the readers probably not how much they should appreciate it, how this story would look without your help.

I hope you enjoy everyone, feel free to leave me a review.


	25. The Richard and Emily Show

**The Richard and Emily Show**

Lillian escorted Richard and Emily back to the house without a further word. There was no outburst as Emily had feared when she'd heard her mother calling her name, there wasn't even a remark. Nothing, but silence.

"My husband wants another word with you before you go", Lillian informed Richard as soon as they'd entered the house. "Good night, Mr. Gilmore", she made it unmistakable his presence wasn't desired longer otherwise and continued her way. Emily gave Richard a short glance, unsure what she was supposed to do. "Good night", her lips eventually formed and she hurried to follow her mother. As she still didn't address her, even after Richard was out of hearing, Emily decided it probably would be the best to go back to her room and wait. Wait. As if she hadn't waited enough for Methuselah's lifetime.

Just when she put a first step on the stair, Lillian held her up.

"I want a minute with you, Emily."

Emily paused and nodded. "Of course, mother", she followed Lillian into her drawing room.

"Sit down", Lillian pointed at the couch and Emily did as she was told. "Now", she sat down on the chair opposites her daughter. "I've to say you arranged this little farce more than cunning."

"I've no idea what you're talking about", Emily answered as firm as possible. It even wasn't that much of a lie.

"Oh Emily please, maybe you can trick your father, but most certainly not me."

"Really, I don't -"

"Stop it!", she interrupted her sharply. "My eyesight is very good. I saw you two on the pond. I saw enough to know this _friendship_ of yours isn't platonic", Emily's eyes flickered, sign enough for Lillian she was on the right path. "Trying to fool us like that, Emily. I expected more from you."

"Mother, I swear, we never-"

"We!", she cried out. "And there you gave it away."

"It's not the way you think it is. It was all on father's account. It just happened and I - the Gilmore's are a very respectable family", Emily tried to save the situation. "Richard is a respectable man. And if father says I shall marry him, I will."

Lillian had a hard time to suppress a snort. "So you're telling me, you'll marry anyone your father suggests?"

"He suggested Richard."

"Your father isn't exactly known for his steadiness."

"He suggested Richard", Emily repeated stubborn. "And as he isn't exactly known for his interest in my social life, I doubt he'll change his opinion."

"It'd be very easy for me to make him change his opinion, Emily. It'd be more than easy for Carl."

"Why would you do that? He's a Yale graduate, he has a very good job and reputation. There's nothing that'd argue against an alliance."

"The circumstances do. The fact you two seemed to think this little farce is the only way to introduce your relationship to us."

"I already told you, we did not."

"And I already told you, you can't trick me like your father", Lillian replied calmly. "You better tell me the truth, if you don't want me to find out myself. And I will."

"There's nothing which could be found out", Emily denied with sweaty palms. "As Richard already said, we briefly dated last summer and -"

"Dated?", she dug deeper, Richard's thoughtless comment at the dinner table still haunting her.

"Yes, dated. We went to a museum, we had dinner, we danced. That's all."

Lillian stared at her daughter, a piercing look which gave away she didn't believe a word.

"Well, yes, maybe I seriously considered him as a partner back then. He's a very nice and charming man after all", Emily found herself saying. "Yet he got engaged soon afterwards and the point was moot", one phone call and her mother would know anyways. "I haven't even seen him for months", she however decided to stick to the official version Richard and she had made up furthermore. "Not until yesterday."

"He kissed you on the pond."

"He did not kiss me. Not really. We were just horsing around and then -", Emily stopped and looked at her folded fingers. And then what. If her mother hadn't showed up, they would've kissed. They would've kissed. Richard would've touched her. She bit her lip.

"Horsing around", her mother repeated. "I gave birth to you. I raised you. I taught you manners and modesty. You never horsed around, Emily. At least you didn't since you were three - and even before the most ludicrous thing you ever did was jumping up and down on your bed for hours like you were some sort of maddish super ball."

"I'm sorry that I forgot my education."

"That's not the point and you know very well it is not." Once more her daughter did not reply. "Alright", she sighed. "You may go to your room now. Don't consider this conversation to be over however."

"Thank you", she stood up and walked towards the door while Lillian reached for her latest needlework. The knob already in her hand Emily swallowed, then she turned around. "Please, mother", she said, yes, almost begged.

Lillian didn't put her embroidery away as she replied. "I don't have to send you to a doctor, do I?", she eventually vocalized her worst fear.

"No", Emily slowly replied with contracted brows. "God no!", she called out a second later as she understood Lillian's question fully. "Mother! That's just - no!"

Lillian observed her daughter. It had sounded honest. A big part of the anxiety remained though. "Tell him he can pick you up at six tomorrow. I'll book a table for you at _Elda's on Lark_. You'll drive to the restaurant without detours or stops, you'll drive back here without detours or stops and you'll be back by nine."

"Nine?", she asked slightly disappointed. Three hours only. That was nothing.

Lillian raised her brows. "You better not stress my benevolence, Emily", she showed her limits. She umpired again and heaven knew she hadn't the slightest intention to let things get raffish again.

"Of course not, mother. Thank you", she curtsied, trying not to run as she left the room to tell Richard.

To her disappointment Richard wasn't in her father's studio anymore, but Baldwin, his canvas and paint-pots among themselves. Emily made a short calculation. He couldn't be gone for too long, if she hurried she might be able to head him off. Soundless she ran back to Lillian's drawing room and knocked, where she wished her mother a goodnight and excused herself to bed. Lillian answered it with a smile and a wave of guilt hit Emily. It probably didn't occur to her that her daughter would dare to lie to her again and betray the new trust she'd just achieved some minutes ago. The last time, Emily promised her silently, promised it to herself. Then she sneaked out of the house and sprinted across the meadow and bushwhacked through the small hedge that separated the park from the access road as she'd already done the day before. Today she really almost hit his car when she entered the road and the Pontiac stopped abruptly.

"Hell", Richard exclaimed and jumped out. "Do you have sort of a desperate death wish I don't know of?"

"I told you not to speed on the slip road", she replied still out of breath due to her small sprint. "Thanks for braking though", she added, cocking her head with a smile. She didn't want to replay yesterday's fight.

Richard let out a laughing grunt. "God, Emily", he ran a hand over her cheek and bowed down to kiss her softly. "Promise me to stay away from my moving car in the future."

"Only if you promise to pick me up at six o'clock tomorrow."

Relief spread through his body, a grin on his face. Richard kissed her again.

"You still haven't answered my question", she bawled him out playfully afterwards. "Will you pick me up or do I have to get myself another date? I'm sure Preston -"

He silenced her with another kiss. "Don't you dare", he murmured against her skin and searched her lips. "You know, I never dated a girl with her parents' permission before", he remarked during a breather.

"I'm glad at least something in our relationship is a first for you too."

"There are many things, Emily", he stated as she raised a brow in disbelief.

"Like what?", she demanded to know.

"I never started a fight with Preston Meyer before. Actually I never started any fight before", Richard answered grinning and kissed her forehead. "I never kissed a girl on a driveway with a speed limit before", a kiss onto her cheek. "I never felt up a girl on a driveway with a speed limit before", he put his hands onto her bottom and pulled her lower body to his while his lips shaved hers.

"Richard!", she protested with a laugh. "You're impossible."

He grinned. "Just longing", he parted her lips for good and continued to run his hands over her backside, exploring every bone and vertebra, every swale and rounding. She felt so good. Soft and yet every muscle of her body was well defined, tautening under his fingertips as they wandered over the thin material of her blouse and skirt. Carefully he brought a hand to her breast and ran over it, eventually massaging her as she didn't pull back. So good, he thought, intensifying the kiss hungry and pushing her against his car. "It's getting cold", he whispered although he felt anything but coldness and put a trace of kisses onto the side of her neck. With a last kiss, he opened the door of his car. "Madam", he performed a little bow and gestured her to get inside.

For a second there was hesitation in her face. "Thank you", she then said and, gathering the skirt a bit, entered the car and slipped onto the front passenger's seat.

He followed her and closed the door. A reminding smile on his lips Richard fastened his seatbelt before he manoeuvred the car to the roadside. Snow gnashed under the wheels, branches and leaves picked on the black lacquer as he parked the Pontiac close to the hedgerow and turned the engine and lights off.

Richard unfastened. "Much better, don't you think?", he smiled and pulled her close again, continuing where he had stopped. He didn't want to rush her, still it was hard for him to hold back, every nerve of his body prickled with excitement and with every movement he had to quell a moan. Without breaking the kiss Richard gently pushed her back and leaned over her, slowly opening the first buttons of her blouse and continuing to explore her breasts with gentle touches.

"Don't", she whispered with reddened cheeks when he was about to move down the material of her bra and laid her hand on his.

"Nothing you don't want me to", he stated, slightly disappointed and kissed her again. She killed him, his arousal did, it was all he was able to think about or feel. He straightened up and pulled her with him. "Emily", he moaned when she landed on his thigh, her knee touching his erection. She froze and Richard hurried to put a hand on her neck to prevent her from pulling back, a short kiss. "Nothing you don't want", he said again and moved her hand to his crotch. "Just -", another moan when he felt her through the material. "Please", he pressed his cheek against hers. Emily didn't move. He could hear her breath, faster than usual; he felt her heart beating against his palm"Please", he whispered again and searched her lips, a hungry kiss while he unzipped his trousers, guided her hand, did it for while, did it until she understood. His own hand slipped under her bra without encountering resistance now. Consuming he explored the flesh and skin, the teat and her cheek glided over his, causing her warm breath to tickle on his ear. He wanted to taste and kiss her again, but he couldn't. His hands glued to her waist and breast, all he was able to do was to bury his head on her shoulder and inhale her smell as the heat in his lap, her fingers on him took him over the edge within seconds. He pushed her back onto the seat and grabbed for the handkerchief still red from his own blood, hastily covering him as he collapsed over her.

She heard her heartbeat, it mingled with his moans and heavy breath. He murmured her name and pressed his head into the swale between her neck and shoulder. Emily couldn't move. She was paralyzed by shame and shock. All she wanted was to get out of this car, away from this perversion and yet she couldn't move. Once more her body didn't obey, once more she'd lost control. "Emily", she heard him whisper, the sound of a zipper. There was a kiss onto her cheek, many of them until he eventually reached her lips. He tried to part them, but she turned her head away. The leather of the seat felt cold against her skin and his palming hand burned like glowing iron on her breast though not as much as her inside. The shame killed her. Only whores did what she'd done. Richard had turned her into one. Richard had used her in the most brute way. Richard continued to kiss her face. So soft. Not like he'd done before, suddenly all human again. "I have to go back inside", she forced herself to say while she removed his hand and buttoned up her blouse, noting proudly her voice sounded firm.

"Already?", he asked and a small wave of anger went through her. As if she hadn't accepted enough humiliation tonight and now he apparently thought she'd allow him to do anything else.

"Yes", she replied with gnashed teeth and he eventually sat up again. She followed him and opened the door. It was really cold outside she realized distracted. Cold and wet. Emily inhaled deeply. The smell of snow lay in the air, the one who covered the ground and the one who was about to fall.

"Wait", he laid a hand on her shoulder and stopped her from getting out. "Don't go like that."

"Like what?", she stopped, but didn't face him. She couldn't look at him right now, she probably never would be able to look at him again.

"I don't know", he said low and bent over her to close the door and shut out the coldness. "Mad", he made an insecure guess.

"I'm not mad."

Richard held his breath. "People who like each other do these kinds of things", he eventually stated. "And there's nothing wrong with it. Contrariwise. It is -", he searched for the right words. "Beautiful", he eventually tried to describe what he'd felt. The word didn't hit the mark, yet it came closer than anything else. "It was beautiful."

"I didn't experience anything beautiful within the last few minutes, Richard. It was rather mortifying and unpleasant."

Richard removed his hand from her shoulder. "I'm sorry you think so. I always thought you enjoyed kissing me."

"This is not about the kissing and you know it", she whirled around. "_Nothing I don't want_", she quoted him with a snort. "I didn't want _**that**_."

"You didn't exactly pull away either."

"Because I - it. I", she stammered. "God, Richard", she sighed, leaned back and closed her eyes.

"Don't you think you can get used to it. At least a little?"

"You can bet I won't do anything like this ever again."

"But why?", he dug deeper.

"Because I don't want to, that's why."

"That's why? What is this why, Emily?", he lost his temper. "Tell me. What is this why?"

"This is ridiculous, Richard."

"Tell me", he almost yelled. There they were again, not even 24 hours later and there was the anger again, the yelling, the approaching fight.

Emily crossed her arms and stared at the dashboard as if she was reading her words from it like it was a teleprompter ."I won't."

"You're not going before you tell me", again he grabbed her left arm.

"Ridiculous", she tried to free herself, yet he was stronger.

"Tell me", he demanded.

"You know why. I told you already", she yelled. "We aren't married. That's why, Richard Gilmore. We _**aren't**_ married."

"**That** is ridiculous!", he replied. "This isn't the middle ages anymore. And even in the middle ages people didn't need a stupid marriage certificate to make love. And we didn't even do it."

"I don't care what other people do. You don't have to care what other people do. Because I won't do anymore without this stupid certificate. Why is it so important to you anyways?"

"Why?", a dry and surprised laugh, he let her go. "Because you're my girl. You're my, you're the woman I'm with. The one I'm going to marry, just in case you missed that for heaven's sake. That's my why."

"Going to", Emily hissed. "Going-to-future. Simple present: I'm not married. "

"That's hair-splitting."

"It's fact."

"Why can't you understand that it's a normal part of a relationship?"

"Why can't you understand I won't do it?"

"How could I understand that? No one can understand such nitpicking."

"You can't because you can't, but because you don't even try."

"There isn't much to misapprehend if it comes to inhibition. You've to understand -"

"No, you have to understand", she interrupted him hurt. "Since I was a little girl I kept imagining the day of my wedding. I do even more since I've known you. I keep imagining the ceremony, the reception, the cutting of the cake and the first dance. The moment we'll be alone for the first time as a married couple. I want it to be special, Richard. There's a reason for the existence of the word _consummate_. Marriage is - I'll be your wife. I'll be your wife for the rest of my life. And the day we marry, that day I want to give you more than just a Yes. I want to give you me. I want to be your wife, to be really yours with all the meaning of it from that day on", she stopped and looked at her hands, clinching the fingers. She had said more than she had wanted to. "I really should go now", she wanted to get out, but a third time Richard put a hand on her arm and pushed her back to the seat, did it gently this time. Her words lay heavy on his mind.

"And I told you I won't do a thing you don't want me to do. I didn't. It was all up to you", he lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. "It was all up to you, Emily."

She swallowed and slightly shook her head, her tongue felt dry, unable to talk.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about", he said low and her reaction proved he had hit the mark. "It's a thing between you and I. Just you and I", he told her and wrapped his arms around her. First she stiffened, yet after a while she relaxed into his embrace. "Was it really that horrible?", he brought up the courage to ask, did it almost inaudible. The possible answer feared him. Shyly she shook her head against his chest and laid a finger onto his lips.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore", she whispered. It was all so fast. Too fast. It wasn't her and still her. She was curious. Curious and frightened.

Richard took her hand and kissed her palm. The feeling inside of his chest burned. "I love you", he put it into words and laid his arms around her again, pressing her head and body against him, almost taking her the air to breath. She was glad he did. She didn't have to answer this way.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: "The Richard And Emily Show" was a rather difficult birth, parts of it written weeks ago and changed and changed and changed. Lately new versions arrived in Mel's mailbox literally every five minutes as I couldn't stop changing and changing and changing. But I'm quiet happy with it now and - particularly due to Mel's advices and encouragement - decided to post. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and please take the few minutes it needs to write a review. It is important to me to know what you think, especially about this installment.

Thanks to those who reviewed "The Big Hangover", everybody else should be swallowed up by the ground.

A very last word on my stupid behalf: Some days ago I realized I started to use the German version of Henriette lately (Henrietta). I think I replaced all the Henrietta's with Henriette by now. If I ever should name Henriette Henrietta again - don't be shy and tell me with a friendly slap into my neck.

_This chapter is dedicated to Ellie, her "kilometric reviews" and the perfect pizza _


	26. Rapunzel In A Fishbowl

**Rapunzel In A Fishbowl**

Richard wore his best suit, clinching a bouquet of roses as he rang the bell. Alternately swimming in seas of euphoria and thoughtfulness after the long drive from Albany to Edmeston, he hadn't slept much that night and for once he was glad about the black eye as it distracted from the black shadows under his eyes. Of course he was well aware of the fact that he even wasn't a beauty without it, but he still wanted to look good. He wanted Emily to see an attractive man. Someone she'd desire just like he desired her. And a lanky guy with the crinkled face of a tired out bum sure was nothing that would attract her, she who always looked so beautiful and perfect. Still there had been some lived passion last night. No matter how her reaction afterwards had been, she'd drifted away just like he. And how good it had felt to feel her, to feel a woman that close after months of abstinence, what an easement it had been to be eventually relieved of all the pent-up covetousness. However the easement hadn't lasted for too long. He was hungry for more and it drove him crazy, almost a small obsession. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to get rid of the tension, opening them hastily again when he heard somebody at the door.

To Richard's awkward surprise it wasn't the maid who opened the door, but the landlady herself. Lillian Johnson scrutinized him from bottom to top. Her facial expression didn't give away the slightest emotion. There was no disapproval, but neither was there benevolence as her look wandered over his toe-caps and the flowers, glancing at his suit and the collar of his shirt, eventually examining his face until their eyes met. For a second he was caught by the irrational fear she could tell what he'd just been thinking - or even worse what they'd done in the car - just by looking at him with her vigilantly green eyes. Richard felt pearls of sweat building on his forehead, not to talk of his sticky palms. Although his mother had taught him otherwise, he wasn't able to utter a word and so it was Lillian who spoke after she had finished her appraisal.

"Good evening, Mr. Gilmore", she greeted him politely and her voice was just as neutral as her face. At least now he knew why it sometimes was so hard to see behind Emily. Apparently her mother hadn't just taught her how to be the proper wife.

Nervously Richard cleared his throat. "Good evening, Mrs. Johnson", he handed her the flowers, which were originally supposed to be Emily's.

"Why thank you", Lillian took them. "My daughter in exchange for some flowers. A nice deal for you, isn't it?"

"My, she hates him", Emily heard a voice and winced, unable to suppress a small shriek.

"God, Hopie, you scared me to death!"

Her sister kneeled beside her and peeked down the wooden stair rail. "I'm still not talking to you", she announced proudly, trying to get a better view at the happenings downstairs.

"Why are you obviously searching my closeness then?", Emily remarked dryly and looked down on their touching shoulders.

This time it was up to Hopie to wince back. She did although it tasted the better view. Principle was principle.

Lillian Johnson didn't invite him in and Richard had a hard time figuring out what she expected him to do. "Is Emily here?", he eventually asked gormless and Lillian had no mercy pointing it out.

"Where else should she be, Mr. Gilmore? You have an appointment after all."

"Well, yes, of course", he stammered and gave up. Whatever he'd say, he'd probably walk straight into the next trap. For their next meeting he would have to think of something. He would have to find a way to leave a decent impression otherwise she'd think he was a jerk forever no matter what else the future brought.

After another eternity, Lillian put him out of his misery. "I'll tell my daughter you're here."

"Thank you", Richard thanked the closed door.

"You two can come out of your hiding place", Lillian announced and her daughters appeared from behind the stair rail, their heads glowing like illuminated tomatoes. "Seriously, how old are you?", she scolded them annoyed.

"I'm sorry, Mother", both said simultaneously.

"At least you two seem to have found a common interest again", she couldn't help to remark and noted their caught faces with amusement. "Now, now", she clapped her hands softly. "Back to your room, Henriette. You still have to practice the violin for at least another 20 minutes if I'm not mistaken. And you'd better get down here Emily, if we don't want to freeze your rose cavalier to death and smash your father's dreams."

Henriette made a disappointed face and walked behind the next corner, where she stopped and pressed her slender body against the wall. Her hope to become invisible didn't turn true.

"If I don't hear you playing an accurate Bach within the next 40 seconds, I'll have a serious word with your teacher about some extra lessons", Lillian told her hiding youngest while she gestured Emily to get downstairs once more. "Turn around", she asked her and Emily did as she was told. The light blue sheath dress she wore was too daring in Lillian's eyes. Maybe it was high-necked, but there was a small, U shaped cut in the material that gave a glimpse to her décolleté and with the hem one handbreadth over her daughter's knees and the lack of sleeves the dress gave away way too much sight on skin. Alongside the pearl necklace and bracelet it was a rather decent overall picture at least and if her daughter would wear the fitting bolero jacket that now hang over her arm, it could work. Lillian sighed. "It's January", she said, a small motion of her head towards the jacket.

Emily understood the broad hint and got into it, closing the large button with an impatient smile. "May I go now?", she asked.

"You may go and get your coat", she answered. "I don't hear Bach yet", she added a little louder and there was a faint noise upstairs before Henriette appeared at the stair rail.

"Mother, please", she begged despite she knew better.

"Ten seconds, Henriette", Lillian answered. "Unless you want me to call Mr. Hemming at eleven. I'm sure he'd appreciate some extra money for _daily_ lessons."

Henriette gnashed her teeth. "You just got yourself a free Bach concert", she mumbled and vanished into the direction of her room.

"I heard that Henriette", Lillian cat-called her and concentrated on Emily again, who put on her gloves. "You'll keep the bolero on and closed until you're home again."

"Yes, Mother", she nodded.

"And you'll be home at nine o'clock sharp."

"Of course", she agreed once more, it mingled with the sound of a distant violin.

"You may go then."

"Thank you", she curtsied relieved and walked towards the door, opening it. "Hello Richard", she greeted him only after she'd closed the door again.

"Emily", he kissed her hand. "You look beautiful."

"Oh now", she waved aside and hardly tried to look not too flattered over his compliment. "But thank you", she added politely.

Richard grinned. He loved her with blushed cheeks. "Ready to go?", he offered her his arm.

For a second Emily hesitated, wondering if it'd be too intimate for what was supposed to be a first date. But then they officially had dated last summer, they were supposed to marry and overall she wanted to take his arm. "Yes", she linked with him, a warm shiver. Their eyes met and she couldn't help but smile as she looked up to him. This was perfect. He was and everything else faded away.

Richard guided her to his car, opening the door for her. Another wave of hesitation swilled through her, the memory of the last night did and she could feel some more blood surging to her face. "Thank you", she murmured without looking at him and got into the car, hardly trying to get rid of the uneasiness she suddenly felt and getting back the warm euphoria it had replaced. Yes, they had - _**she**_ had done things more than inappropriate. But it was Richard. Richard for heaven's sake, not just any guy. The guy she intended to spend the rest of her life with. She didn't want to lose him. She couldn't. Some obligingness, she therefore had decided last night, was necessary. She liked kissing him anyway, more than that, she loved it. And if he wanted her to do the other thing again, she would. Yet, making this decision and being here in this car, being where it first had happened and having a faded picture of the intimate encounter playing in her head were two different things. Theory and practice didn't get along very well, education and life didn't. Somehow she was glad her mother had set an accurate schedule that wouldn't leave time for more than dinner, perhaps a fleeting kiss goodbye. And maybe, maybe there even was the slight chance he'd tell her again he loved her.

"So", Richard asked her and started the car. "Where do you want to go on our first date?"

"My mother booked a table at _Elda's on Lark_", she confessed. My mother booked a table. Mommy organized everything. She did it in between combing my hair and tying my shoes. It truly was an embarrassing thing to confess for a 21-year-old and Emily hated she had to.

"Sounds like a nice place to go to."

"They have good food", Emily stared at her gloved fingers.

"But?"

"There's no but."

"Why did I hear an unspoken but in your last sentence then?"

"There was no -", Emily stopped as she felt him staring at her. "Well, yes. Maybe there was one."

"And…..???", he gestured her to continue.

"And we'll probably spend the evening in a goldfish bowl. Or should I say the three hours we have?"

"Three hours only?", he called out with disappointed surprise.

"It's better than nothing."

"We even won't have time for dessert."

"If we order and eat fast, we will."

"Speed dating, now great", he murmured stroppy and she gave him a hurt look. "I'm sorry", he apologized, realizing it was unfair to take his resentment out on her. "I just imagined tonight to be a little different. I wanted to have a decent dinner with you, some dancing afterwards and a walk", Richard stopped the car at the ramp to the main street. "I'm sure it'll be a pleasant evening nevertheless", he patted her hand.

"I hope so", she replied with a small smile.

"We should start it with something pleasant then don't you think? A proper kiss hello for example would be a grandiose starting shot", he grinned mischievously and she rolled her eyes with a smile. "Now? Do I get one?", he pressed on.

"Why not", she replied and he leaned over for a soft kiss.

"Hello", he said afterwards and she laughed. "You're really beautiful tonight", he told her and kissed her again, noting gladly she wrapped her arms around his neck and relaxed for good.

"We had better go now", she broke the actual kiss after a while and Richard put a line of kisses onto her neck as she continued to talk. "My mother might send out a search party, if we don't arrive at _Elda's_ in what she considers to be a proper time span."

"Spoilsport", Richard sighed, only unwillingly he disengaged from her. If it were up to him, they could've spent the entire evening in the car.

"I need you alive", Emily stated softly.

"The search party is armed?"

"Armed enough to turn you in to my mother. And she won't need any weapons, believe me."

"I'm so glad you've a pass tonight, Rapunzel."

"You better stop joking around, if you don't want those to be your last jokes."

"As you wish, Dear", he put a smacker onto her cheek and eventually navigated the car onto the main street. "So, where's the goldfish bowl where we're going to enjoy ourselves?"

"Lark Street, around the corner of Washington Park."

"Lark Street", he repeated. "I could've figured that out myself."

"Nobody is perfect."

"But I'm close, aren't I?"

Emily laughed. "Very close", she smiled broadly. "And if you eventually would look onto the street instead of staring at me, we even might have a chance to arrive at _Elda's_ in one piece."

To be continued

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ATN: I apologize for the terrible delay and hope you haven't forgotten this little story of mine. Thanks to Mel and thanks for all the lovely reviews! 


	27. Down By The Pine Gardens

**Down By The ****Pine Gardens**

Richard couldn't tell how long they've sat kissing in his car. It could've been an eternity or just an hour or two. Time was an erratic measure when he was with Emily. Erratic and yet valuable. Maybe things had gotten better since she was back at Smith and her mother couldn't watch every meeting like a hawk. But he had a job, Emily had classes and between them was the gap of a three hour ride. Nevertheless they tried to see each other every night. Richard even had fooled his family on his birthday to be able to drive to Northampton and meet her. And now that almost everybody knew about them there was no more need to make whispered phone calls and hide in sticky theatre rooms. They were able to have dinner in restaurants, stroll through the city and have a drink in every bar they wanted to go to, to dance wherever and whenever they wanted. Still - like now - they spent most of their time in his car, only surrounded by the dozens of pines that built a small wood outside Northampton. He always stopped on a small and forsaken forest track in here when he drove her home after their dates, did it for a kiss goodnight. At least that was how they referred to it: the short stop for the kiss goodnight while it was so much more. Sure there was a kiss goodnight, at least in the end, many of them in the hours between. Despite Richard hardly could take his lips and hands off her, they never made it to the outmost however. There was an unspoken arrangement between them. She was allowed to touch and kiss him wherever she wanted, while everything below her collarbone was out of bounds for him. Sometimes he couldn't resist and moved his hands closer to her breasts or the inside of her thigh, hastily pulling back as he always felt how she stiffened in his embrace as soon as he left the approved terrain. It was funny somehow that he never had felt more of her body than in that one special night three weeks ago, while she'd lost her reluctance from date to date. By now she seemed to know perfectly when he needed her and within the set rules she gave him what he needed. And although he never had asked, hadn't dared to do ask for more than just the touch of her slender fingers, she'd gone farther. The moment he'd first felt her lips on him he'd thought he'd die. Die happy and contented. Just like he felt nothing but quietness right now and here in his car with Emily in his arms while her gentle kisses and her smell elongated the cosiness of his last climax. All too soon the cosiness turned into a comforting doziness and Richard broke the tender kiss, putting his head onto her lap. "I love you", he whispered as he always did afterwards. It was a cliché, he knew, still he couldn't help it. It were those moments when he felt love the most, moments in which nothing else distracted him from his actual feelings for Emily. As always he felt her lips on his head, a soft kiss and he closed his eyes while her hands ran through his hair.

Emily leaned her head back and closed her eyes while she continued to play with his hair. The words lay on her lips, but somehow she didn't bring up the courage to pronounce them. A long inner fight every time he told her he loved her and when she finally was about to reply too much time had passed and it was too late. She tried to compensate this inadequacy of hers with actions, hoping he'd understand. First it'd been hard for her, actually she still felt a wave of shame going through afterwards. It's Richard, she always told herself in such moments. Richard. As it was him, there'd been something else in the beginning. There'd been the fear she wouldn't be able to please him. She'd been afraid to do something wrong as she knew nothing about men, not about their bodies, the things they might enjoy - and she hardly could've asked someone. Therefore she'd done her research. Medical books first which didn't shed much light, eventually turning to Miller whose sexual explicity was whispered knowledge. _The Rosy Crucifixion_. The reading shocked her. The words he'd used, the descriptions. They way men seemed to think. The curiosity she felt, her entire reaction. The reactions of her body once she'd gotten used to the distinct vocabulary. It calmed her too, it really almost quietened the midwife's voice in the back of her head, while other parts, the parts where she found herself in a character send her back to doubts. She only finished _Sexus _therefore. She'd found out enough. She hoped she had. Besides it was theory, while Richard was real. It was all different to the book, yet it was all the same. Sometimes she wished she never had read it, sometimes she was glad she had, after a while not thinking about it anymore, not brooding where the new and foreign thoughts in her head came from, but just acting them out to a certain degree. It was the hardest part she sometimes felt. Sometimes everything in her longed to go further, to feel Richard, to feel him everywhere. Still she always set him back to his place when he tried to do so. It wasn't real reluctance, but the fear she might forget herself if she'd allow him to do more than just kissing her. And she wasn't willing to do so. Not yet. Not before they were married.

Emily winked with a suppressed yawn and glanced at the watch on the dashboard. It was quarter to one already. Although she was tired, she tried not to fall asleep. On of them had to stay awake and watch the time. She decided to let him sleep for another quarter of an hour, resting her own head on his side now, never stopping to run the strands of his hair through her fingers, while she looked at his side-face. He looked so peaceful and watching him made her feel the same.

"Richard", she whispered at the full hour and caressed his face. "Wake up."

There was a sigh and he buried his head in her lap. "How late is it?", he murmured against the material of her red skirt.

"One", she answered and straightened up, then bowing down to kiss his neck. "It's time to go home."

He sighed again and turned, so he was able to face her. "Hey", he whispered and traced her lips with his index finger.

"Hey", she smiled and pressed her cheek against his palm. "It's really time to go", she reminded him after another minute of silence.

"That's my girl", he grinned. "Always thoughtful."

"Your girl", she shook her head with an amused snort.

"My Lady. My fair, fair Lady."

"As nice as the thought behind this might be, I prefer it to be not compared to a London street girl with an exhausting accent."

He laughed. "I never would dare to do that. I'm sure you were born as the perfect lady you are."

"Well", she shrug her shoulders, playfully patting her chignon. "I was."

"Really?", he asked. "No childhood crimes you want to confess?"

"No."

"Come on", he met her with disbelief and nudged her side. "There has to be something."

"There's nothing", she denied. "At least nothing that would fulfill your expectations."

"That can't be. Everybody has a dark spot in his past."

"I don't."

"Never stole a chocolate bar in the grocery store while you mother wasn't watching?", Richard interrogated her.

"I don't think I ever went to a grocery store with my mother, so, as much as it saddens me to disappoint you - no."

"Broke an annoying schoolmate's nose?"

"No."

"Not even the naughty boy who tried to lift your skirt in the main recess?"

Emily snorted amused and rolled her eyes. "Girls school, Richard", she told him.

"Teachers then. Sponges on their chair? Chewing gums?"

"Sponges are germ spreaders, chewing gum is for ruminants."

"But there must be something."

"There really isn't. The first illegal thing I did, I did with you."

"We never did something illegal."

"Of course, Richard. The club", she reminded him. "You made me break into the club."

He smiled upon the memory. "I remember", he lifted his head, a short kiss.

"I liked that place actually", she really had and wondered why she'd almost forgotten the exotic beauty of the poolroom. "Why did we never go there again?"

"They opened a new club in August and shut it down."

"But it's still there, isn't it?"

"A ruin. No water. No light. It has lost all its magic."

Emily rested her head on his side again. "But where are you going to now when you need a place to be alone?"

"Nowhere."

"But you need a place to be alone at."

"I don't. All I need is a place to be alone with you and I found it already", he made a small circle with his chin, tracing the car before he put a doting kiss onto the smooth material which covered Emily's stomach.

There was a lump in her throat. Now, she thought. Just tell him now. Instead she bowed forward and kissed him. "We really should be going", she whispered her cheek pressed against his. "You need some sleep before you go to work."

"I can do one night without."

She chuckled low. "You say that every night."

"And I'm still alive."

"Because I insist you go and sleep a little at least."

"Alright, alright, I pervert the course of reason", he straightened up. "But only because it looks amazing tonight."

"Amazingly tired", she confessed. "It was a busy day."

"Right, the tennis lessons and the –", he looked inquiringly at her while he fastened his seatbelt.

"The meeting of the DAR", she told him, shaking her head and fastening as well. "Not to talk of three classes and my morning exercise."

"It's really beyond me why anyone would swim a mile in the morning."

"It's good for your health, Richard."

"In an outside pool?"

"A heated pool, pleasant 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Otherwise I wouldn't swim there for all the tea in China."

"Still – a mile", he couldn't help to point out again while he set back his car. A slippery undertaking due to all the snow on the forest track and a glance at the fuel gauge made clear he'd had to refuel the car before he drove back home. Richard hoped he'd find a gas station which was still open, otherwise he'd end up somewhere in the boonies. He really should've fueled up before he picked up Emily. Usually he did, well knowing the Pontiac – no matter what a fine car it was otherwise – quaffed the fuel while they parked in the pine wood with constant-speed motor. But without heater it was definitely too cold. They'd tried that one evening, both freezing and shivering after some minutes despite their thick winter coats and tight embrace. "5280 feet", he continued. "That's endless."

"Just an hour, if you're trained. A professional actually does it in half of the time and less."

"Hookers swim a mile a day?"

"Richard", she called out and slapped his arm. "Sometimes you're really horrible."

"I'm sorry", he laughed. "I simply couldn't resist."

"Well, resist in my presence in the future."

"You know I do everything you want, darling."

Emily still couldn't help it. Although he used pet names rather often, it still set the butterflies free. "Well, if you really do, I hope you finally submitted your vacation application for spring break", she nevertheless tried to avail herself from his statement.

"Uhm, well", Richard hemmed and hawed.

"Oh come on", she sighed annoyed and the butterflies burst. "Tell me it isn't true."

"I will tomorrow, I promise."

"You're saying that for almost two weeks now, Richard!"

"And this time I really mean it."

"I hope you do, because if you wait any longer it'll probably be too late."

"It won't", he stated striking. "It won't", he repeated and gave her a look while he squeezed her hand.

"Good", she nodded. "Because I really would prefer to spend some time with you in the daylight. I'm no vampire after all."

"Just a professional", he grinned.

"God, Richard!"

"Swimmer. Professional swimmer", he corrected for his own good.

Emily crossed her arms. "I really don't know why I'm spending more time with you than necessary."

"You like me."

"If I only liked you, I would've shot you to the moon ages ago."

"It might be quiet nice there. Especially as I recently heard that the man in the moon is a lady."

"Maybe a lady", she raised her brows and acknowledge him with a kittenish glance. "But your _fair_ lady?"

"I haven't thought about that."

"You should've. Besides science could be wrong and it's still a guy. How would you feel about that?"

"I feel like I shouldn't tease you any longer."

"Good start, Richard Gilmore. If you get that vacation now, I seriously might consider dating you again."

"Tomorrow?", he asked hopefully, did it although he knew the answer already.

"You know I can't tomorrow."

"Not even an hour or two?", he tried to talk her into some time at least. "It's Friday after all, I can leave the office at 2 p.m."

"I know", she watched the passing houses and trees as they approached Smith faster than she wanted to. "But I promised my mother I would help pick out a dress for Henrietta's debutante ball and in the evening I have to attend the annual benefit auction of the country wife's. That date had been set months ago and I really can't bug out."

"I understand that", he fibbed. There were benefits every weekend after all. It sure wouldn't hurt if she missed one. "But Henriette even isn't sixteen, I thought? There's plenty of time to buy a dress on other days."

"Such things have to be planned in advance, Richard."

"Spontaneity can be fun sometimes, too."

"And she has her coming out in a potato-sack?"

"She might set a trend."

"You might meet the man in the moon."

Richard laughed. "I'm over that idea by now."

"Good for you. I might get jealous of that three million year old geezer, you know."

"And I'm jealous already of the amount of people who'll spend time with you tomorrow, while I won't get to see you for five tiny minutes. I mean –", he stopped, a grin playing on his lips. "What if I'd accompany you tomorrow?", he suggested out of the blue.

"Accompany me?", she asked surprised.

"Why not?", he stated hooked by the idea. "You ladies might want to have a male opinion upon all those white silk dresses and I'm sure the country wife's would be glad about a bidder more. Somebody has to buy their crochet doilies and I could need something to put my Scotch glass and ashtray onto in the evening."

"Crochet Doilies? In your flat?"

"Everyone has secret affectations. And my heart beats for crochet work."

"Does it?", she asked dryly.

"I swear, the last time I attended the country wife's auction and started bidding, I ended up spending my whole annual salary on doilies, potholders and egg cosies."

Although she couldn't help to giggle, Emily decided to ignore his babbling. "Still I'm not sure, if you'd like to spend hours between hallstands full of ballroom dresses and among old ladies with huge hats raising their bidder signs with shaking hands."

"I like spending time with you", he winked. "So? Do we have a date?"

"I –", she bit her lip, thinking about it. A whole day with Richard. The idea was tantalizing. "Why not", she hence agreed with a broad smile. "But don't say you hadn't been warned when you're all bored and wanna take a run."

"I won't be bored", Richard denied. He was sure he wouldn't be. After all looking at Emily never could be boring and he'd have plenty of time to look at her the next day. Besides he'd eventually have an opportunity to getting to know Lillian Johnson and leave a good impression. If things turned out how he'd planned them for the future, there wasn't much time left to smoothe things over between Lillian and him before everything was settled for good. Hence the opportunity of shopping was godsend, it almost annoyed him he hadn't had the idea to accompany the Johnson women earlier.

To be continued

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ATN: Here you go – fast, wasn't I? ;) As always thanks to the great Mel and to everybody who reviewed! 


	28. Secret In Law

**Secret-In-Law**

Dreamily Emily ran through a hallstand, pulling out one of the white dresses every now and then just to put it back again as none of them was perfect. One had too much lace, the other was too puffy, a third looked like a cotton ball. They all were rather too revealing or too modest and simply not grown-up enough. None, really none of them was how she imagined it: simple but subtle, elegant _and_ auspicious. She reached for a cotton gown in the empire style with long sleeves and scrutinized it. With a sleepyhead it easily could be worn as a nightgown. Actually she had a few similar nightgowns from Belgium and France and could wear one of them as well instead of spending $350 on a cheap American copy produced in Asia. It would be time saving as well, two turns of the hand and the veil would be replaced by a fancy sleepyhead and she'd be ready for bed. A fortune to see Richard's face.

Only now Emily realized she had stopped looking for a debutante dress for Henriette a while ago and actually was looking for a wedding dress for herself. The realization made her smirk, a small shake of the head. She always had granted her wedding a huge part in her daydreams. Since she was twelve she knew she wanted lilies and orchids with a silver bow wrapped around them for her bouquet and a strawberry cream gateau coated in Devon Cream and decorated with little roses of marzipan for her wedding cake. But lately, lately it really had grown obviously ridiculous. Actually she spent every free minute daydreaming about Richard. Richard in front of the altar, Richard how he lifted her veil, Richard kissing her at the sound of spoons against crystal, Richard dancing with her, Richard slowly pushing the wedding dress over her shoulders. The picture created a shiver and a smile. Instinctively she searched for Richard's gaze who was sitting on a chair next to the fitting rooms and browsed a catalogue. He smiled back at her and she imagined he'd put his reading away and would walk over to her, prostrating and proposing. Hopelessly ridiculous, Emily scolded her imagination. Still she couldn't deny herself a longing look into the ward with the bridal fashion before she concentrated on the actual reason for their stay in the shop and picked out a dress that seemed to be made for her little sister.

"Try this on", she took it and walked over to Henriette who looked at her mirror image that wore a florid dress the thin-lipped seller had picked, calling it "a white dream" and "all the rage in Paris". Of course there was no reaction on her sister's behalf. "Would you please ask Henriette to try on this dress?", she handed the gown to her mother. "You look like a clew in this one. Way too much lace", she couldn't help to taunt Hopie and the seller made a grumpy face. She ignored it. If he really thought this dress was en vogue, he apparently had the wrong job. And if he just tried to sell the thing to make room for new gowns, he had the wrong job as well as he apparently didn't know how to sell horrible stuff like this perversion of a dress as well. "Richard?", she asked for his backup.

Turning his attention from the unbelievably huge selection of silk ribbons of all sorts and colours listed in the catalogue, Richard looked up. "Emily is right", he stated with knitted brows. "Although you make a very cute clew", he winked and earned a smile of Henriette.

"You are right. _It has_ too much lace", her mother agreed, correcting Emily's grammar at the same time and gave Henriette the dress. "Would you change into this one, please", she asked her without question mark.

Henriette looked at the silken material in her hands. "I don't like it", she lied to prove her point. There was no way she'd wear a dress Emily had picked out, no matter how much she liked it.

"It's beautiful", Emily protested.

"It's horrible, Mother", Henriette continued the ignorance game by turning to her mother with ostentation.

"We'll judge about that as soon as you're wearing it", Lillian didn't accept any objection and shooed her youngest back into the fitting room while the still sulking seller vanished into the other direction. Somebody should tell him he _really_ has the wrong job, Emily thought.

"Won't you finally tell me what this quarrel is about?", Richard asked as soon as the others were out of sight and hearing.

"I've no idea what you're talking about", she walked back to the hallstands with the debutante gowns.

Richard put the magazine away and followed her. "Obviously your sister doesn't talk to you."

"She just isn't a talkative person."

Richard laughed. "She wouldn't stop talking about the fan dance during our entire drive into the city, just like she wouldn't stop going on and on about Cyn-or-whatever-her-name-was and her stay overboard while we had tea."

"Carole Schreiber", Emily held out a dress. "What do you think about this one?"

"Emily", he warned her.

"We're here to find a dress, Richard", she waved with the one she held in her hands. "So?"

"So?", he raised a brow. "I think she's mad at you."

"Richard", she sighed annoyed and he decided to give in partially.

"I prefer this one", he reached for a dress that looked rather nice.

"You can't be serious", she called out. "Look at the bad stitching - the seams will disband at least after the first dance. Besides it isn't even real silk, but one of those cheap plastic copies. Seriously", she took it out of his hands and hung it back.

"Still I liked it", he pouted. "Although not as much as you", he put his hand on her waist and squeezed it, a kiss onto the top of her head.

"Not in public", Emily hissed and removed his arm. "Please", she added with an insistent look.

Swallowing a reply and a grin, Richard nodded. Sometimes Emily was really more than old fashioned. He hadn't French kissed her after all. "Now, what about that one?", he held up another dress. Emily only rolled her eyes, pointing at a large bow on the side that was flecked with fake diamonds. "And this?", he grabbed the next dress which seemed to be sewn out of net lace altogether.

"It'd even have too much net lace for a tutu", she stoop to comment, hastily stopping him from pulling out an off-white something that looked more like a babydoll than a decent ball gown. "Why don't you just go back to your magazine?"

Richard pushed his lower lip forward. "Boring."

"I told you you'd be bored, but you wouldn't listen."

"I'm not bored per se", he denied. "I wouldn't be, if you'd allow me to help you pick out a dress."

"There are really many things I adore and esteem you for, Richard", she looked at him with a taunting smile. "However even the famous potato-sack would be more genteel than the tatters you just picked out with the taste in fashion of a blind man."

"If I were really blind", he decided to pick up the opportunity. "I wouldn't have realized there's something going on between you and Henriette." Emily opened her mouth to reply, but he was faster. "You can either tell me what it is now or I'm going to talk her into this dress", he lifted the nightmare of a somewhat fawn-white quillings gown with overhanging puff sleeves and a hinted Elizabethan ruff. "And I would be able to talk her into it, trust me."

"You wouldn't dare to", she tried to grab it, but Richard was faster.

"Henriette", he called out and walked over to Henriette who had just come out of the fitting room and eyed herself rather unhappy in the mirror. The dress was really lovely, she had to confess. Some changes here and there and she'd be the star of the debutante ball. If she'd only seen it before Emily had. "What about this one?", he asked her.

"Richard", Emily whizzed with held breath and followed him. "You can't be serious. He isn't serious", he told her mother and sister with a forced smile. "Besides you look amazing in this one, Henriette", she stated. "Some small changes here and there and you'll be the prettiest girl at the ball."

"It really suits you very well", Lillian agreed confused, giving Richard and the gown in his hands an alienated look. She hadn't been too fond of the idea of the young Gilmore accompanying them and just when she'd gotten used to his tall shadow following them for hours, he apparently wanted to hoax her daughter and she.

"I hate it", Henriette announced, taking the ugly dress Richard held. "But this one looks", a small pause. "Nice", she lied, not wanting to hurt Richard while she wondered what on earth made him think this horrible thing would look good on anybody.

"It's horrible", Emily shrieked.

"Without intending to offend your sense of fashion, Mr. Gilmore -", Lillian endorsed her eldest daughter. "However I don't think this dress will flatter you, Henriette."

"I like it a lot and I'll try it on."

Lillian's jaw almost dropped open, nevertheless she followed Henriette into the fitting room. Sometimes she really didn't know how she deserved two children as stubborn as hers. At their age, she never would've dared to dissent her parents or somebody older than she. She never would've ended up married to a twenty-one-year older ivory-tower man claiming himself an artist if she had, Lillian couldn't help to think. She wouldn't have her daughters, she reminded herself as well. No. There was nothing wrong with respecting and obeying elder people. If she only had been able to teach her daughters this quality, things would be much easier most of the time.

"See?", Richard grinned contended.

"That's unfair. You're obviously playing on her grudge against me", Emily crossed her arms. "But you're reckoning without the host, dear. No matter how mad she might be at me, she'll never wear this, this -", she stopped with an angry hiss. "Really", she added just to say something. "Never."

"Emily, Emily", Richard shook his head with played dismay. "For somebody who doesn't like risks, you're really pushing your luck too far", he grinned and bowed down on ear height. "You better put your cards on the table, honey", he whispered. "As I'll win this game."

Emily pursed her lips and stormed off to the section with gloves, where she started to go through the selection without really looking at it. She couldn't decide whether to be mad or offended. "Really", she hissed once more when he appeared next to her. "What kind of story do you want to hear?", she said and shrug her shoulders. "She's mad at me."

"Really!?!? I wouldn't have noticed."

"Richard!", she gave him a look that would've been able to kill. "Stop acting like a -"

"Alright, alright", he interrupted her. "Just go on."

Emily sighed and concentrated on a pair of gloves while she continued to talk. "Do you remember the glorious afternoon of misapprehension?"

"Of course I do", he reassured her with a private smile.

"I promised Henriette to - I promised her something", she implied.

"Something?"

"Let's say I promised her to spend some time with her. Which I didn't. Just like I promised her to - to spend time with her after Christmas. Which I didn't either", she threw the gloves back to the others.

Richard nodded slowly. "Because you spent time with me."

"Well", she pulled a face. "She can't be mad at me forever, can she?", she laughed a low and faked laugh.

"No", he took her hand and squeezed it softly, meeting the air with his lips when he bowed down to kiss her.

"Not here", she reminded him, although she wouldn't have minded. "And now, please", she pleaded, nodding into the direction of Hopie who looked like a cross of Elizabeth I. and a clown in the dress Richard had chosen. "I beg you Richard, please talk her out of that dress."

This time he was faster, there was a peek on her cheek and he turned away to join Henriette and Lillian. "Oh my", he announced. "I was wrong. Completely wrong. Not that a beautiful girl like you couldn't wear anything Henriette, this dress however is -"

"Terrible", Henriette finished his sentence. "I look like the incarnation of a roll of frill."

"I'm sorry", Richard chuckled. "Why don't you put on the previous again? You really looked amazing in it."

"Really?", she beamed. "I don't know", she hastily continued as Emily approached next to them. "It was a bit too simple for my taste."

"Precisely the simplicity of it does the work", he told her. "It brings out the beauty of the wearer without distracting from it with details hence only an unsightly person would need. In my book it is perfect for you."

"Well, if you say so", she smiled at him. "I'll think about it."

"You definitely should."

Lillian Johnson looked from her beaming youngest to her eye rolling oldest. While Richard Gilmore apparently knew how to butter a girl up, Emily at least seemed to realize when a man piled it on. Although Lillian couldn't really sentence him for his blandishment, because Henriette forgot who'd suggested the dress first and agreed to buy it three compliments later, even insisting Richard had to help her pick out shoes as well.

Emily was glad Hopie liked Richard. Actually her sister hardly left his side. No wonder she didn't as Richard gave her his best attention, acting the goat and cajoling her. When he even asked Henriette for the first dance at the benefit after the auction, it was too much for her taste however. It was their date and nobody else's. Nevertheless she bit her tongue and kept a jealous watch over them while they danced a slow waltz. Of course it was ridiculous to be jealous of her own sister. Actually it wasn't jealousy per se, but more resentment. Henriette's looks into her direction every now and then exactly proved she knew how Emily felt about all the attention Richard gave her, that she literally forced it just to annoy her. Maybe Emily could've lived with that. However she had no idea where Richard's intense efforts for Henriette's favour came from. It had been obvious from the very first moment that her sister liked him and he already had played on that card to make her talk.

"Can you keep a secret?", Richard asked Henriette as he guided her into a turn and she looked up.

"What kind of secret?", she asked curiously.

"I won't tell you if I can't be sure you can keep it."

"Of course I can!", she reassured him. "Now - what kind of secret?"

"Alright", he cleared his throat. "You know, last summer I happened to fall in love with a girl", he stated uncontroversial as he didn't want to go like a bull at the gate. Emily and he had followed that path in the beginning, actually they still did most of the time and it was a good path. It felt safe, just like a home game and as Henriette was Emily's sister, he knew she'd understand. At least he had hoped until she interrupted him with an annoyed sigh.

"I know that _secret_ already."

"How would you know? I haven't told you everything yet."

Henriette rolled her eyes. "I just know."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. And as it is no secret, there's no reason for you to sell it as a secret."

Her pubertal snottiness set a small wave of annoyance free. "It's no secret, because it isn't the secret I intended to tell you", he nevertheless tried to get her interest again. He simply had to get through with this. He only had to remember Emily's face while she had thrown the gloves back to the storage reck to know.

"Then why tell it to me?", Henriette didn't show the slightest mercy with him.

"Every story has a beginning and an end, so do secrets", he explained calmly. "But apparently you don't want to know."

For a moment there was the silence of reflectiveness as they continued to dance to the sounds of the waltz. "Of course I do. Tell me", she demanded then, the curiosity outweighing her displeasure.

"Only if you promise to not interrupt me again."

Henriette sighed. "I promise."

"Good", he smiled. "Where was I ?"

"Last summer you fell in love with a girl", she helped out.

"Didn't you just promise to not interrupt me again?"

"I just answered your question."

"Last summer I fell in love with a girl", he repeated once more and gave her a look that told her to be quiet, a twist around her ankle before he continued. "A very beautiful and intelligent girl", Richard supplemented. "I couldn't help it even though I was in a serious relationship. Therefore I decided to carry on and forget her, especially as she'd made clear she'd no interest in me", he made a small pause, making sure Henriette understood. "But then we accidentally met at a ball and it turned out she felt the same things for me. I simply - I realized I had to be with her and nobody else. I couldn't and wouldn't pretend I love another woman and broke my engagement. Of course we hardly could've started dating right away. People were gossiping enough already and I didn't want any gossip about our relationship. Hence we decided to wait until things calmed down before we went on our first date. Of course, as much in love as I was, I couldn't stand just hearing her voice on the phone and not being able to see her. I _had _to see her and asked her for a secret date, for many of them afterwards, just like I practically begged her to see me around Christmas. My girl agreed every time. The last time she even agreed although she'd given her sister a promise. I don't know what kind of promise it exactly was, she only told me she broke it to be able to see me."

"I bet her sister was mad", Henriette murmured.

"Yes", Richard agreed carefully. "Very mad. Actually she still doesn't talk to my girl. And she probably has every right. I mean - she doesn't know why my girl broke her promise after all. And even if she did, I'm not sure if she'd understand our situation."

"Well, she simply could've told her sister."

"I made her promise not to utter a word to anyone."

"So she kept the promise she made to you, while she broke the one she gave to her sister?"

"Yes", he nodded slowly. "Yes, she did. But what other choice did she have? If somebody would've found out about us, we would have been in deep trouble. Trouble deep enough to spoil our future, if there still would've been one."

"She knows she can trust me", Henriette called out. "I wouldn't have said a word."

"Maybe you wouldn't. But imagine how mad I would've been if I'd found out she broke her promise."

"Emily could find out you broke it too", she pointed out. "Don't you think she'll be mad as well?"

"That's why I asked you if you can keep a secret."

Henriette didn't reply, maybe there was a small movement of her head as if she nodded, but Richard wasn't sure. "Thank you for the dance", she said after the song was over.

"It was my pleasure, Henriette."

Hopie realized she pressed her lips together and tried to smile instead. "I bet you want to dance with Emily now, don't you?"

"I wouldn't mind", he answered with a smile as well.

She was about to turn away, but stopped in movement and faced him again. "You're okay", she stated, actually it was an understatement. She really liked him a lot. If she didn't, she probably would've been peeved more than before. Lying to cover a guy. It was so stupid. Totally crackbrained. Besides she really wouldn't have said a word. At least Emily hadn't lied lied, but only lied a little. A little gaga from her crush. Seriously. "That's the only reason."

Richard didn't quiet understand what she was referring to. Asking her was no option though, therefore he nodded in dumbfold agreement.

Henriette didn't see the nod anymore, but already walked off the dance floor. "He asks you for the next dance", she told her elder sister as she passed her.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: As always many thanks to Mel and everybody who took the time to review. Franziska. 


	29. Of Blueberry Muffins And Chlorine

**Of Blueberry Muffins, Responsibility And Chlorine**

His left hand rested on her back, in his right one rested hers. It felt incredible. Although Richard always had liked to dance with a beautiful woman, dancing with Emily was different. Being the only close physical contact she allowed him in public, dancing with her had something of an intimate act. It was like kissing her without using his mouth. It was a foreplay, his mind providing him with pictures of all sorts and living a pornographic life of its own. Sometimes Richard wondered how much power the physical aspects of their relationship had over him, how much power the need for more than they had had over him. He wondered how the woman in his arms could have so much power over him. It was like a fever and if he wouldn't get his pills soon, it would dismember him.

"Emily", he bowed down a little and pressed his cheek against hers as he whispered into her ear and drew a small circle on the thin material on her back. He loved the black dress she wore, it was the one she'd been wearing on their third date, the night she'd thrown her purse after him and so many things into his face. Richard could feel the warmth of her body through the thin, black veil which covered her skin, a surpressed shiver that made him smile privately.

"Yes?", she asked, although she knew what he was up to. At least she hoped he was up to it.

"How big are the chances, we'll get the chance to spend some minutes alone today?"

Emily broke the contact of their cheeks and looked up. He was up for the same thing. "I don't know", she stated thoughtfully and weighed out the options they had. "But it's rather stuffy in here, don't you think?", she added after a small pause. "I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air."

"Then let's go", he stopped dancing and offered her his hand, but she did not take it.

"Let's meet outside", she said low.

"There's no more need to –"

She interrupted him, her lips smiling while her tone of voice spoke another language. "People are watching", she told him. "My mother is."

For a second Richard was tempted to tell her his piece of mind. They were both adult. They were a couple. If they decided to get some fresh air and have a walk it was nobody's business but theirs. He swallowed. If he'd point it out, she'd definitely jump on him in a way he most definitely didn't want her to be over him. "Alright", he forced himself to stay calm. He got what he wanted, Richard told himself, it didn't matter how he did. "I'll meet you outside."

"Good", she nodded with a soft voice and a smile played around the corner of her mouth. If he wouldn't have known her better, he would've been misled to call it inviting. "There's a small pavillion in the park. I'll see you there in five minutes."

An icy wind hit Emily when she stepped outside. Mechanically she made a step back and wrapped her arms around her body. She inhaled deeply, her breath building small clouds in the air while she tried to ignore the coldness. She counted to three and forced herself to take the steps and cross the patio in a fast pace, heading into the park that was covered by the old and the fresh falling snow. The snowflakes got astrayed in her hair and face and her heels crunched on the white blanket, every now and then sinking in one of the snowbanks the wind had accrued. When she eventually arrived at the small pavillion, the snow had gushed into her shoes, been absorbed by her nylons and coated her feet in a cold and wet mass. "Now wonderful", she grimaced and bowed down. Balancing on one leg, she tossed the snow out of her right pump first, then repeated the procedure to get rid of the snow in her other shoe too. Her feet were still icy, actually her toes got colder from second to second and she already regretted her decision to meet Richard outside.

As if the thought had summoned him, she heard his voice.

"We passed the freezing point and a small snowstorm rages and you're running around in a whiff of nothing", he called out as he entered the pavillion. No matter how much he liked the dress and how marvelous she looked in it, it most definitely wasn't weatherproof. "Where's your coat?"

"Hopefully still on the hanger the cloakroom attendant hung it onto after I handed it to her", she replied. "By the way she looked at it, she and my mink might be miles away as well."

"If you would've picked up your mink before you came outside, you would know for sure", Richard got out of his own coat as he spoke and hang it around her shoulders.

"I'm not stupid, Richard", she disagreed, pulling the material closer around her body. "I wanted to. But Mizzy Hamilton and Rose O'Connol were standing next to the checkroom. If I would've picked up my coat, they would've demanded to know where I'm going to, insisted on accompanying me and the trip into this disgustful winter wonderland and the pneumonia I'll probably catch would've been in vain."

"You wouldn't be in the danger of catching pneumonia, if you would've worn a coat."

"I'm wearing one now", she got onto the icy tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "And I think I deserve an award for this selfless sacrifice."

"Very selfess to demand an award of the very high-minded and horribly freezing donator of the warm and cozy coat you're wearing", he remarked grinning despite he'd given a fortune to have a coat.

" I'll make it up to you", she put her lips on his, did it with a smile. "Now?", she raised a brow after a long kiss that managed it to shut the coldness outside.

"A rather good start", he agreed and the clouds of their breath mingled. "But you have to take it up a notch to make up for it completely."

"What about this?", she leaned over for another kiss, one of her hands painting circles on his neck, the other one making its way down his chest and stomach and up again.

"I'm not sure", he stated. "But a repeat might help me to form a view on this issue."

"You're glad I'm selfless enough to make this sacrifice as well."

"Saint Emily."

"If not a Saint, then who else, Martin of Tours?"

Richard laughed. "I'd take you even if you were the grandmother of the devil."

"That borders on blasphemy", she called out with played shock.

"I'm only a man and it's a well-known fact that men are weak. Even Adam tried to get into Eve's fig leaf."

"Before or after she bit into the apple?"

"If she looked like you, definitely before", he pulled her closer and put a kiss onto her forehead.

"And there you redefine the original sin."

"I'm not redefining sin", his lips crushed hers. "I want to repeat it."

"Kissing me is sin?"

"Depends on the definition."

"The definition of kissing or the definition of sin?"

"If kissing is sin, kissing is the definition of sin."

"My head is spinning", she left her tip-toe position. "And my toes will be frostbitten any second."

"I guess that means no more sinning."

"I'm sorry", she stated with an apologetic shrug. "But I'm only a woman and women are known to be weak as well. Even the ladies in the Stone Age wore furs."

"So my coat isn't good enough for you?"

"I didn't say that", Emily grinned. "All I'm saying is that I'm freezing terribly."

"You should sue Mizzy and Rose."

"If I'm going to sue anyone it is you. After all you lured me out here", she took his hands and squeezed them. They felt like ice. "Cold", she pointed out. "We really should be going back inside."

"Alright", Richard agreed and Emily made attempts to get out of his coat. "Oh no", he stopped her. "You'll leave that coat on until you're inside again."

"And how am I going to explain I found a man's coat in the facilities?"

"The facilities?"

"Well, yes", she answered. "After I stumbled into Mizzy and Rose, I hardly could've walked out the door. So I walked into the directions of the restrooms, took a curve and the rear exit."

"How wily. Just to see me", Richard stated with a smile.

"Just to see you", she aknowledged. "You're having a bad influence on me, Mr. Gilmore."

"And as I don't want to be the reason for an influenza as well, you'll leave the coat on", he turned her around and, his hands resting on her shoulders, pushed her over the pavillion. "I'll escort you to the rear exit", he told her. "You can give it back to me as soon as you're inside and nobody will notice."

"You're my hero", she sighed, hardly trying to ingnore the new snow that gushed into her pumps as soon as they hit the park path again. She really wore the wrong shoes for nightly trips into a snowed in park. And no matter how much she had enjoyed the kisses in the pavillion, the uncomfortable feeling around her feet and the coldness that even seemed to be in her bones by now, made her doubt they had been worth this trip.

Ranging between anger and motherly worry Lillian Johnson scrutinzed her eldest daughter and Richard Gilmore. They had left the room separately and came back separately. Yet their reddened faces and some single snowflakes in both hair were proof enough they'd been at the same place. The same place outside. Outside while it snowed like there was no tomorrow. It was this unknown thougthlessness of her daughter that angered and worried her. Sure, they hadn't been gone long enough to go through with anything unacceptable and the weather clearly spoke against it as well. Yet she needed to get back control. She needed to get it back before it was too late.

Hence she decided to take the opportunity when Lionel Ponders asked Emily to dance and Richard remained alone. "Mr. Gilmore", Lillian strolled over to her daughter's worshiper. "I hope you are enjoying yourself."

"I am", he nodded. "Although a dance with you would be the high point of the day, Mrs. Johnson."

Lillian couldn't help to smile. "There's no need to charm me, Mr. Gilmore."

"Far be it from to charm you, Mrs. Johnson", Richard denied. "I'm just a passionate dancer, who hopes you'll concede him the favor of your first dance."

"I'm sorry to put you down, however I'm no dancer. All this swinging and twirling was always beyond me."

"That can't be", he gestured towards Henriette and Emily who were both enjoying themselves on the dancefloor. "I mean, your daughters –"

"They got that from the Johnson line. Even my husband is a rather good dancer", Lillian interupted him impatiently. All the talking about dancing was wasted time. "Not that he has put a step onto a dancefloor since our marriage, but he is."

Richard was surprised upon this trace of humor and familiarity and couldn't help to wonder where it came from or what Lillian Johnson was up to. He had no idea what he was supposed to reply either and therefore just smiled, hoping his interlocutor would continue.

Lillian Johnson indeed did. "It is getting late and the streets probably will be impassable, if we stay here much longer. Actually it is irresponsible enough already to drive."

"I'm sure the streets are getting cleared."

"Maybe they are", she looked at him. "Still, I don't think it'll be clever of you to drive back all the way to Edmeston in the snow and darkness. May I suggest you spend the night in one of our guestrooms."

"That's a very generous offer, Mrs. Johnson."

"I'm not being generous at all."

Surprised he wrinkled his forehead. "I beg your pardon?"

"I think it's time to go whole hog."

"I'm afraid I still can't follow you."

"It's been a while since my husband suggested a union of you and my daughter", she put her cards on the table. "You had enough time for consideration. Therefore, I think you should give him a binding covenant. Or rejection. Whatever you decided to, Mr. Gilmore, as long as you make a decision."

"Mrs. Johnson, I never – I always thought my intentions were obvious."

Lillian surpressed a sigh. If it weren't for good manners she would've told him her piece of mind and how well aware she was of the little farce they were playing. "It is indeed obvious that you and my daughter", Lillian paused to think about her next words. Probably it was what people called 'in love'. Probably it was. Maybe Emily saw through his flattery if it concerened others, but it was clear he'd turned her head. And she'd be restless until her daughter was on the safe side. "Care about each other", she decided to phrase it. "However that is not what we are talking about Mr. Gilmore. All my husband and I want to know is if you'll marry her or not."

While Richard listened to Lillian he searched for Emily on the dancefloor. Her head cocked, she smiled about something Lionel Ponders said. Beautiful, he thought. Just like it did matter. Again he remembered the purse and Emily's words on the night of their third date. It mattered. It was all that mattered. Richard broke away from Emily and looked at her mother. "You're right", he stated as reasoned as possible. "The roads out there are much too dangerous."

Baldwin Johnson was still in the clouds. Meanwhile he'd even made some progress in his efforts to project the cloud like cream on his Irish coffee onto the canvas. Some only, as he still wasn't satisfied with the results. Therefore he just treated a thick coat with a knife when Richard Gilmore entered his studio.

"Mr. Johnson?", the visitor cleared his throat.

"Yes?", he asked without stopping to scratch on the still liquid paint.

"It's me", Richard entered the room. "Richard."

"Richard", he turned around. "What a pleasure to see you!"

"It's my pleasure."

Baldwin put the knife away. "I hope you rethought your last comments on Alberto Giacometti", he reached for a tatter and wiped off the paint on his fingers.

"I did indeed and I came to the conclusion that he never was devoted to a specific movement per se, but only creates effigies of the reality he sees."

"Your sudden judiciousness surprises me."

"You have your daughter to thank for that."

"My daugher? What would she have to say about Giacometti?"

"As a student of arts she has more notion than I", Richard argued. "Actually it was she who introduced me to Giacometti and his works."

"Did she introduce you to his father as well?"

"He was a proponent of impressionism, wasn't he?"

"Tending to symbolism. As some say."

Richard knew if he'd cater to Baldwin's comment, they'd end up in a heated discussion. He knew too less about Giovanno Giacometti and had almost lost his face in the one about his son, therefore he decided to put the brakes on. "Well", he walked towards the canvas in front of Baldwin and observed it. "_Some say_ Picasso invented cubism", he tried to make a humorous remark and change of subjects to those he wanted to talk about. If he'd listened better to Emily, he would've known better. The Giacometti's were history as the keyword Picasso made Baldwin Johnson gather momentum. When the men finally left the studio and headed for bed it was far after midnight and Richard far from having told Baldwin about the actual reason for his visit.

"Mr. Johnson", he hence said as they walked up the stairs. "There's something else, I'd like to discuss with you."

"Anything as long as you don't get me started on Braque's reputedly influence on cubism."

"No, no", he shook his head. "I just wanted to let you know that I did not only think about Giacometti since our last talk, but about your suggestion to marry Emily as well. And no matter from which angle I looked at this issue, I found absolutely noting that would speak against a connection of our families. If I still have your blessing, I'd like to start to line up our agreement into official lanes."

Baldwin grinned. "Good", he gave Richard a pat on the back that made him gasp for breath and wonder where the small man took the strength from. "That's very good. I knew you're the man right away. And if you refresh your knowledge on contemporary art, this most definitely will be a very seminal relationship."

Richard needed some seconds to orientate himself after he woke up. Staring at one of the cream colored ornaments on the pale-brown wall opposite his bed, the memory came back slowly. The Johnson residence. He smiled self-contented and crossed his arms behind his head, causing the material of the borrowed and much too small pajamas to groan dangerously at his armpits. Richard ignored it. In not even twelve hours he'd managed it to win Lillian Johnson's favour. A real stroll in the park of what he'd originally thought would be the crest of the Mount Everest. With the official convenant he'd given Emily's father, everything was settled when it came to the Johnson's. He didn't worry much about his own family either. His father would love Emily, that was for sure. Every man had to love her after all. And his mother. Well. Maybe she still moped because of the break-up with Pennilyn, however she already had started to play matchmaker weeks ago and introduced him to some unmarried woman who 'accidentally' happened to be the only guests for the dinners he attended at his parent's house. "A man of your age and status needs a wife", she used to say. "_You_ need somebody who covers and supports you. Somebody who takes care of the daily things as you should invest all of your thoughts, time and energy in your career and not the purchase list for dinner", she carried it out, most of the time adding a remark like "Has your laundry special prices for the skillful wrinkles they ironed into your shirt?" or "If you intend to wear your shoes longer than a season at least have them resoled" to underline her opinion. Therefore he was sure Lorelai would be more than thrilled he finally had made a choice and would marry. Yes, maybe the tempo would surprise her. But under the smoke screen of an arranged marriage precipitance was nothing unusual. And the faster he married, the faster he'd have someone to take care of creases and worn-out soles. Not to talk of other things, Richard thought as he stood up and the quarrel between his matutinal status and the tight pajama trouser turned into an open war. After winning back his comfortableness during a long shower, he got dressed and sat down at the edge of the bed. A look at the golden alarm clock told him it was half past five. Usually he already had his coffee, toast and newspaper at this time of the day and his body demanded for its morning routine. Therefore he decided to sneak down and have a peek into the kitchen. If he was lucky, he'd be able to talk the cook into a cup of coffee and a small morsel before the actual breakfast in one and a half hours.

The cook was a corpulent woman with protruding breasts and the laugh of an approaching freight train. She was somewhere in her fifties and her dark hair and complexion alongside the few Spanish words she interspersed in her otherwise accentless English ("¡Madre mía! You scared me to death, Señor!") and name (Mercedes) gave away she had southern origins. After Richard had apologized for scaring her to death, he coaxed a cup of coffee and one of the still warm blueberry muffins that were cooling on the windowsill, silently enjoying the meal as he watched her plying with the eggs, milk and flour for pancakes.

Curiously he raised a brow when he saw her adding some sparkling water to the dough.

"My little trick", she explained and started to stir the dough with the eggbeater. "The carbon makes them fluffy like clouds."

"I'll have to memorize that."

"You cook?"

"No", he denied. "But the next time somebody serves me adamant pancakes, I can tell him how to get them fluffy like clouds."

Mercedes laughed. "If a cook doesn't know that already, he's a more than hopeless case. Even the Señoritas Johnson do and heaven knows they've no talent for cooking."

"But they cook?", Richard asked curiously.

"They tried to", Mercedes put the finished dough away and started to shell some apples. "When they were younger Doña Johnson used to send them into the kitchen twice a week, so they'd learn how to prepare a square meal."

"And?", he wanted to know. The picture of Emily with apron and wooden spoon made him grin. "Did they learn how to prepare a _square meal_?"

"Ah, well", she tergiversated.

"Ah, well?"

Mercedes sighed. "You know, it is just like -", she started just to stop. For a few seconds the sound of a knife on an apple and the bubbling of simmering water were the only sounds in the kitchen. "Let me tell you a little story", she continued then. "When my son Damian was seven years old, he visited his grandparents in California. His grandfather Jose took him to the coast one evening. They sat there on a stone and ate their emparedados when Damian suddenly saw some glittering things flying over the water. He thought it were magical creatures, some sort of fairies of the sea, you know? His grandfather told him they were flying fish, but he didn't believe him. He wasn't zonzo after all: he knew fish had no wings and feathers. It couldn't be fish then. Birds fly, fish swim and the glittering things had to be fairies."

Waiting for her continue, Richard sipped at his coffee. "Did your son find out they were only fish in the end?", he eventually asked as the cook made no attempts to continue and he hadn't the slightest idea what she was trying to tell him.

"He turned thirty-four years old last month and has two children of his own. I hope he knows they were fish", Mercedes smiled. "But the actual question is: Can fish really fly?"

"Well", Richard murmured pensively. "Some of them. Kind of."

"Exactly", she nodded while she cut one of the apples into small cubes. "They kind of can fly, but none of them will ever spread its wings and sail higher and higher through the air and clouds. Just like the Señoritas Johnson will be able to tell you the exact ingredients with indications of weights and cooking time of every dish ever cooked by me. But", the apple cubes wandered into a bowl and Mercedes splattered some lemon juice over them. "If you'd leave them alone with their knowledge, a plucked and gutted duck and a cooker you most definitely won't get canard à l'orange but canard coal."

Richard laughed. "It can't be that bad."

"Well", she sighed and reached for a rock melon, starting to treat it into cubes too. "La Señorita Henriette is rather skilled when it comes to desserts. No wonder, she always has been a sweet tooth. If you have good teeth, her chocolate cookies are actually rather good."

"What about Emily?", he leaned forward.

"Señorita Johnson has a very fine degustation. She is able to tell you there's too much nutmeg in the kohlrabi just by smelling them. However she has no idea how to fix such an overdose. She simply can't link practice and theory", she shrug her shoulders with another sigh. "At least they eat everything. Their padre however. Such a picky man. Before his marriage, I had to cook potatoes, steak and beans every day. Can you imagine that? 7 days a week, 52 weeks a month just steak, potatoes and beans."

"You've been working for the Johnson's that long?"

"The old Doña Johnson hired me when I was fourteen", Mercedes confirmed, putting the melon cubes to the apples. "Actually I've been helping out in the kitchen every now and then long before that. My grandmother already cooked for them, you know. I took over from her."

"So you practically know the Johnson's since your birth?"

She looked at Richard. "Yes", she wiped off her hands with a towel. "Actually my family has worked for them since my grandmother came over to America with Rose Johnson."

"Rose Johnson?"

"The great-grandmother of the Señoritas Johnson", Mercedes explained. "Baldwin III met her when he was on Gomera because of a deal with a vintner. Actually Rose's family was British, but they used to spend their winters on the island. My family worked for them and when Rose got married, she took my grandmother with her. Originally she was just supposed to stay until the wedding was over, but then the Johnson's needed someone in the kitchen and she stayed a little longer. And well, after my father was born, she never went back home. Thought he had better chances here, you know", she reached for some berries and washed them. "But what am I babbling, when I'm supposed to get the breakfast ready."

Richard leaned back and watched how Mercedes finished making the fruit salad. "So, your son", he decided to dug deeper as he got intriguied. "Damian was his name, right? What does he do?"

"He works for the Johnson's, too", Mercedes explained and pride flashed in her face. "Carl Johnson often sends him over to Europe or Latin America. Actually Damian makes all the deals for the company in these countries. He met his wife in Puerto Rico, just like my father did", she laughed. "Others bring along bibelots and figurines as souvenirs from their trips, they got themselves esposas."

"Seems to be a family tradition", it slipped Richard out and Mercedes eyes darkened.

"Without wanting to be impolite", she stated cooly and dusted off her hands at the dishtowl hanging over her right shoulder. "But I still have a lot of work to do, if I want to have breakfeast ready on time."

Richard stood up before she had the chance to continue and throw him out. "Of course", he said. "How thoughtless of me to distract you from your work. Thank you a lot for the coffee and your pleasant company, Mercedes."

"You're welcome, Señor."

Already half through the door, Richard stopped. "Mercedes", he turned around. "Do you know, if Emily. If Miss Johnson", he corrected himself. "Do you know… when she usually gets up?"

Mercedes got her smile back, a broad one it was. "Due to her usual routines, she already should be awake since a while."

"Oh", he nodded and laid a finger on his nose. "Any chance you know as well", a cantilevered gesture. "Where I might find her?"

"El sótano", her grin grew even bigger.

Richard startled. "In the basement?", he asked for a confirmation of his rather slim school Spanish.

"Si", she reached for his dirty dish and carried it to the sink as she spoke. "The basement. She's usually doing her morning routine at this time."

"In the basement?", he repeated confused.

"Unless the pool down there vanished over night she is in the basement, yes."

After Richard had stumbled over a cellar with a more than impressing collection of old wines, the laundry and a small room that contained what probably was Mercedes stock of preserved vegetables and fruits and dozens of glasses of jam, he eventually found the poolroom. Unlike the rest of the house it was quiet simple. The tiling was white and all it contained were three chairs of the same colour, over the right one hung a towel and bathrobe, a pair of bathing sandals stood in front of it. The owner of these itmes swam almost soundless in the pool. She wore a black swimsuit and her hair was stowed under a matching bathing cap. Typical Emily, Richard thought with a small grin, even in a private pool in the basement and before sunrise she was perfectly styled and elegant. He watched her for some laps, enjoying the sight of her barely covered body. Actually he absorbed and memorized every detail of her spotless back, the shoulder blades and vertebras, the perfect bow of her buttocks and her tense muscles as they moved continuously, before he advised her of his presence. He did it with a harrumph and a "Good morning, little mermaid", stepped at the pool edge and kneeled down.

"I always hated that story", Emily didn't stop swimming, though she slowed down. "Every time my nanny read it to me, I hoped the mermaid wouldn't die in the end, but the prince would bump the other girl and marry her", she told Richard and did a flip turn, her slender body vanished under the surface for some seconds. "Of course he never did and I was crushed", she continued seamlessly. "If you ask me, it's not the sea witch who's the villain in the story, but that stupid prince."

"If you ask me, you never should trust men in pantyhose anyway. Something has to be wrong with a guy who likes to squeeze his legs into a woollen pair of tights", Richard remarked dryly and she laughed.

"That's a moral I never drew of fairy tales before."

"I'm glad to contribute to your ken." Emily snorted and he hurried to add a "Not that you need it."

"Too late to butter me up", she remarked laconically. "But why don't you use your brilliancy to enlighten my rudimentary store of knowledge a little more and explain me how a wolf would be able to scarf down two people. I mean -", once more she submerged. "Even given the fact it was a big specimen, he couldn't have been bigger than maybe 3'11. Maybe Red Riding Hood was smaller, but the grandmother must've been taller. There's no way they fit into his stomach. They even wouldn't have passed his gullet without asphyxia of the wolf. At least not in one piece and the same goes for his buddy and the six little goats he had for dinner."

"If you're laying in on the plausibility of fairy tales, wouldn't it be easier to start with the fact the wolves could speak?"

"Animals_ always_ speak in fairy tales."

"And wolves_ never_ chew their food in fairy tales - no matter how big the dish is."

"That's a lame explanation, Richard."

"It's no explanation, but the law of fairy tales", he made a small pause as Emily vanished under water. "Nobody can explain laws", he continued when he was sure she would hear him. "They're just there and have to be respected like the fact donkeys aren't allowed to sleep in bathtubs in Brooklyn."

"You're making that up."

"I'm not", he disagreed.

"Even speaking donkeys?"

"No matter what talent a donkey happens to have, he's not allowed into a bathtub in Brooklyn. Part 7, Article 83, Ordinances of Brooklyn", he looked at his watch. "Speaking of donkeys and bathtubs - how long do you intend to stay in the water?"

"Speaking of donkeys - why thank you", she sulked playfully, his last comment distracting her from the initial question why on earth Richard was able to quote strange laws.

"I was just trying to make an elegant transition."

"And failed", she sighed, pushing of the edge and disappearing under the water. "A real shame as I don't like surrounding myself with losers. Goodbye honey, don't call but it was nice to have met you."

"You better bite your tongue, _darling_", Richard told her, the last word oozed with jeer, although he enjoyed this moment, her playfulness and ready wit.

Emily grinned and gave him a short glance before she concentrated on the lane again. "Or what? Will you come in and drown me?"

"That's what you want me to do, isn't it? Jump into the water and ruin my best suit", he shook his head. "But you can forget that. Eventually you'll have to come out and I'll have my revenge."

"Uhhh", she laughed. "Now I'm really scared, Mr. Hydrophobic."

"Who laughs last, laughs the best."

"I'll remember you fondly, while I'll laugh tears", Emily did another flip turn and sped up, her head vanishing under the water with every stroke as she swam her last five laps.

For some seconds Richard looked admiringly at her while she started to climb the pool ladder, then he got onto his feet and gave Emily a helping hand.

"I'm soaking wet", she protested, water drops running down her legs and pooling around her feet as he put his hands on her hips and bowed down to kiss her.

"I don't care", he silenced every other possible and very likely protest with a long and gentle kiss. He really didn't care, even if she had swam in sullage he wouldn't have been able to resist her right now. The banter had turned him on, so did the bathing suit, the things it didn't cover.

"I like this kind of revenge", with a smirk she looked up and raised a brow before she strolled over to her towel.

"So, what would you like to do today?", he asked. "Except being in for the warrantable retribution for your behaviour?"

Wiping off her arms she laughed. "We haven't been to the theatre for years", she suggested.

"I've seen enough bad movies for a lifetime."

"Not all of them were bad", Emily protested.

"Maybe they weren't", he shrugged and - distracted from the sight of her well-positioned right leg on the chair and the way she ran the towel over it - lost the thread.

"But…", she looked up and gestured him to continue.

"But", he cleared his throat, forcing himself to look into her face. "Our conversations were because of all the annoyed members of the audience shushing and throwing popcorn at us."

Emily giggled. "Nobody threw popcorn at _us_", she denied. "They only threw it after you when you gave away the plot of _Goldfinger_ in low volume."

"I only wanted to soothe you."

"I wasn't scared."

"Your grab was that powerful, I couldn't hold a pencil for three days."

"Maybe I was a little anxious every now and then", she had to confess. "But only a little."

"I never said I minded."

"Mind making a plan for today?", unerringly she changed the topic away from her temporary frailty weeks ago. "We could plan to eventually make plans for Spring Break for example."

Richard held his breath. He'd feared she'd raise the issue again. "Or we just could go to the theatre and watch _Goldfinger_", he joked, although he knew it wouldn't work. Of course it didn't. He gave her the runaround for too long now.

"You promised."

"I tried to, Emily, I really did. But yesterday I had to do so many things in the office and I had to do them fast if I wanted to leave on time to meet you. There simply wasn't time."

"Now great", she huffed and continued to dry herself with sulking concentration.

"I'm sorry", he tried to soothe her.

Her dissapointment overweighted her anger by far and Emily bit her lip. It wasn't worth a fight. She wasn't in the mood to fight."It's alright", she murmured therefore and slipped into her bathrobe. "But let's make plans for today at least."

"That would be fine with me", he gladly accepted her offer, although the disappointment in her face almost made him deverge from the original plan. But then he'd fill her in soon enough and giving in to her impatience would ruin everything. "What about real theatre for a change?", he suggested knowing Emily had a thing for it.

She smiled low. "You think our conversations will be better there?"

"The program will be. Just yesterday I saw some bills of _The Cherry Orchard_ staged in the Capital Theatre."

"If you really think we'll have the slightest chance to get tickets for the only professional theatre in Albany on a Saturday night - dream on."

"What about New York then? We could visit a matinee, a ramble over the 5th Avenue and dinner afterwards", he suggested.

"That sounds lovely", Emily beamed. "I haven't been in New York for ages."

"So New York it is."

"Looks like we have a plan", she nodded satisfied.

"Looks like we do", he walked towards her. "You love plans, don't you?"

"I can't deny I'm having a thing for them, no."

"A thing only?", Richard rolled his eyes. "Please, Emily. Anything but the expression love would be an understatement", he removed her bathing cap which caused her long hair to fall over her shoulders in soft curls. He ran a strand of it through his fingers and bowed down to kiss the fine line between her forehead and hair line. It tasted like chlorine and her. Probably, he realized, the small scent of chlorine always was there, here at the hair line where small drops of the water found their way through the cap and weren't washed away during the shower after the swim. "Just like I love your hair", he ran his hand over the nape of her neck and sailed in her dark hair.

It was now, she felt. Just now. Emily buried her head on his chest and inhaled deeply to get rid of the nervosity that crawled into her bones. His smell and warmth calmed her a bit. Just now.

And I love you, she thought, hardly trying to bring her tongue and mouth to form the words. Just now.

"It's getting time for breakfast", Richard murmured and another moment had passed, another 'just now' had.

"It is", she agreed and broke the embrace, did it with a crooked smile. "I will see you then", she put a small kiss onto his lips before she walked away.

He loved the way she walked, Richard adored the view on her backside. The swing of her hips wasn't pronounced enough to appear provoking, but provoked by the easiness in it. "Emily", he cleared his throat.

"Is there something else?", she stopped surprised and turned around to face him.

"Well", he walked to her. "There is. Kind of", he bowed down and started to kiss her, pushing her body against the doorframe while she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Lillian Johnson headed him off after the breakfast and guided Richard into her drawing room.

"My husband told me about your talk last night and I suppose my daughter told you how important a marriage of hers is for our family", she started right away.

"She did", he agreed and followed her gesture to sit down on the sofa.

"Good", Lillian sat down too. "But just as I can't deny I'm glad she finally found someone, I can't deny as well how worried I am. Just as much as I dislike dancing, I abominate disingenuousness. You may have shown a lot of engagment in your attempts to appear like the perfect son-in-law and it's far from me to allege you purpose, however you're having a bad influence on my daughter."

"I –", Richard tried to say something, but she didn't allow him to.

"Emily always knew what was proper and right, she always has been a decent young lady. Unfortunately the emphasis lays on has been, Mr. Gilmore, because that changed since she is with you and I will not condone that. If you want to be with her that's fine with me. As I already said – I'm glad that Emily eventually has a partner. Not only for the sake of the family, but for her sake as well. A girl of her age needs a husband. However", there was a small pause she used to lean forward and smooth out the mat on the coffee table between them. "If you want to be with her, you don't have to play after the rules of my family only, but after mine as well. As long as you aren't married, I don't ever want to see or even hear of such an inappropriate behaviour like stealing yourselves away from a party. Even after the exchange of wedding vows, it still would be more than undue."

"We did no-", once more Richard tried to object, but Lillian Johnson interrupted him sharply.

"I'm not finished yet", she said. "And you should be very glad I'm not getting started on your insufferable behaviour at the pool this morning and throw you out."

Richard eyes widened. "I was surprised as well, Mr. Gilmore", she adressed his reaction. "And your shock surprises me even more. This is my house after all. How could you possibly think this behaviour would be unoticed by me? And even more important: How could you dare to act like this under my roof? I told Emily already and I'm telling you now: I don't want my daughter to behave in a way which is far out of question. As she apparently decided to ignore my wish, it is your responsibility to look after it. Do I make myself clear, Mr.Gilmore?", she gave him a piercing look with her cat green eyes and he managed it to create a nod. "That girl lives in an ivory-tower", Lillian continued a bit softer. "She always did, just like I did everything I could to protect her. It was my job to do so. But now it is you who has to take care of that. It is you who assumes resonsibility for my daughter."

Suddenly his tongue felt dry. Richard swallowed. "I will, Mrs. Johnson", he managed to utter. Responsibility. He hadn't thougth about that yet. At least not explicitly. So many things he'd thought about. About marriage and vacations, sex and love. He'd spent hours searching the _one_ ring for his proposal, days to find the right words to present her the diamond ring with. Everything was organized, every detail he'd paid attention to. Except responsibility. How could he forget about that. Just like her parents did now, he'd have to take care of her in the future. Substantial things wouldn't be a problem. This wasn't what Lillian Johnson had refered to. It was the responsibility next to provide her a house and food and diamond rings.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: I'm very sorry for the long pause since the last chapter. I just moved and due to my job I currently spend three weeks a month in hotels and unfortunately hardly had the time to write. Anyhow, I'm on vacation now and hopefully will be able to finish this story within the next three weeks. 

Thanks a lot for all the kind reviews on "Secret-In-Law" everybody, keep them comin' or – in some cases – start writing them ;) :P

I'd like to thank Elizabeth for her legal advice and research upon the donkey law in Brooklyn. It doesn't exist anymore, therefore I made the part and article up, heaven knows what kind of law it really is.

And, last but not least, many thanks to Mel. You're a great editor and helped me a lot when I didn't know where to go with this chapter. Thanks as well for borrowing me your line for the first Richard and Lillian talk, it was the perfect ending.


	30. My Funny Valentine

**My**** Funny Valentine**

Rolled-up in a fetal position, the heavy eiderdown covering everything but the fingertips of her left hand and some strands of blonde hair, Melinda McGee lay in her bed and enjoyed her REM sleep. Just when the guide of a tour through a temple of the Incas who happened to be no one less than Elvis Presley (Melinda simply couldn't get over the fact why he would have to earn an extra income as guide in Peru. He must've made billions with music and movies after all) showed her a torch lit secret passage, the stone wall sprung open and ghastly electric light illuminated the narrow alleyway.

"I can't believe it", Emily's voice resounded from the walls. "Can you believe it?"

"God", Melinda's left hand touched the part of the blanket that probably covered her head. Elvis was gone, so the temple and the passage, while Emily's loud voice and the god-damn bright electric light were still there.

"Such an impudent behaviour", her friend and flatmate ranted. "But if he thinks he can get away with it, he's mistaken. I have my pride too and just because I like him, doesn't mean I'm going to accept he treats me like a blithering idiot. I am not. I'm no idiot. I deserve some respect, don't I reserve some respect, Sweetie?"

The blanket nodded with a sigh.

"Exactly", Emily called out triumphantly and started to walk up and down. "And what is so wrong with making plans for the holidays? Or should I ask why wouldn't he want to make plans for the holidays? Because he doesn't. For weeks he's been stringing me along, bringing on the most dumb excuses. _I'm sorry, but there was so much to do in the office, darling. I'm sorry, but the guy from the human resource department never happened to be in the office today, honey._ I'm sorry, but ", she imitated Richard's bass, shrieking out the last words in a pitch that probably had all dogs in a radius of five miles wince in horror. "He knows I like things to be well ordered and still he refuses to do me the tiny favour and make plans for spring break and I simply can't see why. It's like he couldn't care less if we spent time together or not."

Melinda realized she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep any time soon. "I'm sure he wants to spend time with you, Emily", she pulled down the blanket, first looked at her alarm clock (23:54 on a freaking Thursday night. She'd have to get up in 5 hours and 6 minutes) and then at her friend. "He's totally fallen for you."

"Has he?", Emily fizzed. "Why would he refuse to make plans then? How much can he like me, if he doesn't want to spend the holidays with me?"

"He likes you enough to marry you."

"He -", Emily stopped and reached for her face, pressing her fingers against her temples. Her head was a mess. Everything was a mess and she hated it. She hated disorder. She hated discrepancies. Emily let out a sigh. "Yes", she tried to say calmly. "You're right", her arms fell to her sides again and her left hand clinched her right wrist. Her fingertips brushed over the cold topaz jewels as if Richard's Christmas present could give her some answers. Of course it couldn't. Still she liked the feeling of the stones against her fingertips, the feeling to be connected with him. Her mind knew it was nonsense, but a bracelet gave her comfort and helped her to calm down. "I'm still mad at him though", she told Melinda and sat down at the edge of her bed. "And if he thinks I'll allow him to treat me like that, he's wrong. I'm no will-less doll he can play with as he wants to and heaven knows I'll make it plain to him."

Richard Gilmore felt nervous as he sat there in his parent's living room and stared into his aperitif, a Scotch on the rocks. It was a Friday night like so many before and yet this was different. It was the Friday night in which the kick-off would be on and there would be no way back. He knew he did the right thing and yet he was scared of it.

He sipped at his Scotch and waited until his father had poured himself a drink too and sat down.

"Now", Lorelai Gilmore smiled at her only son. "How is business going, Richard?"

"I can't complain", he answered, thankful for the delay his mother had gotten him. "I became acquainted with the insurance of a winery up in Bennington. It is only a small one, but I'm solely responsible for the deal and if everything turns out well, I'm on bigger deals", he paused to fathom his position. His mother looked good-humoured and his father relaxed. Of course they did, he'd just revealed good business news. "Besides the premium for the deal would come in handy", Richard carefully headed for the actual news of the day.

"The premium would come in handy?", Lorelai repeated and sat up even straighter. "Are you in financial trouble, Richard?"

"I'm not", he denied. It backfired on him.

"Why else would a premium come in handy if you don't need it due to financial troubles? I simply don't understand why you didn't turn to us earlier", Lorelai looked at her husband. "Go and write him a cheque, Charles", she demanded.

He inhaled deeply. If he didn't want his mother to get absorbed with a nonexistent money problem, he'd to lay his cards completely on the table now. "I don't need a cheque, Dad", he reassured his father who was about to get up. "All I need are two minutes of your full attention."

"Go ahead", Charles told him and his wife huffed.

"I'm in no financial trouble", Richard stated again. "However, I might need some extra money due to my plans."

Lorelai wrinkled her forehead. "Your plans?"

"My intention to marry."

"Oh, Richard!", Lorelai beamed. "I knew you and Pennilyn would reconcile eventually."

For a second he allowed himself to close his eyes. This didn't go like the clockwork it was supposed to be. "I'm not talking about Pennilyn, Mother."

"But who else would you want to marry?", she asked confused. "Since your insufferable split, you never have been long enough with a girl to even introduce her to us."

"Which I intend to do after my proposal on Sunday evening."

"After your proposal?", Lorelai didn't believe her ears. "You never mentioned there was a serious interest in a single line and now you're proposing? How on earth can you intend to marry someone you hardly know longer than a week?!?"

"I've known her longer than -", Richard sighed. "It's not how it looks like. We -"

Lorelai interrupted him. "You're not going to propose to a girl we don't even know. A 'we' that doesn't only include your father and I but you as well. Where would we end up, if you marry the first girl you happen to stumble over on the street?"

"If you'd let me explain, you'd know I did not stumble over her on the street", Richard tried to stay calm, yet his voice sounded sharper than usual. "We had been introduced to each other a year ago and -"

"A year ago", Lorelai stood up. "So I've been right the whole time. She is why you left Pennilyn."

"It's not!", he called out.

Lorelai raised a brow. "Me thinks you doth protest too much."

"I'm not -", Richard swallowed and forced himself to remember the plan. A good plan it was. If he'd eventually stuck to it, everything would work out fine, just fine. "Maybe we've known each other a year, but we've never been in a romantic relationship", he improvised to get back on the track. "Even now I wouldn't say the affection we share has a romantic nature, but the decision to enter marital status is more on reason and business. We both need a partner and we fit together quiet well. Actually I remain of the conviction we'll complement one another perfectly."

"Who is it?", Lorelai asked short-spoken. She didn't like it, she most certainly didn't and her intuition told her there was something fishy about it.

"Her name is Emily. Her family owns the _Johnson Trade Incorporation _in Albany, a company and family name I don't have to exemplify any further", he answered, surprised by how reasonable he sounded. "She's the eldest of the two daughters of Baldwin Johnson and as you probably know Carl Johnson hasn't offspring's by himself. Hence it is her and her sister who'll inherit the family business."

"If I'm not mistaken", Charles uttered his first words on the subject, it was the lawyer Gilmore, not the father though. "The Johnson's always had a male succession."

"Due to the succession the eldest son in the family line is the sole heir, yes", Richard agreed. "My first-born son will be the sole heir", he added and his stomach turned upside down.

By the way she'd gotten rid of him on the phone, Richard could tell Emily was still mad at him. She even had refused to see him after Friday night dinner. They always did. He called her and told her he'd pull out and fifty minutes later she'd wait for him at the pasture by the main entrance of Smiths. Maybe it was better they didn't see each other today, he tried to convince himself. The talk with his parents still lay heavy on his mind, an infinite relief did now that this last hurdle had been taken and nothing could cross his plans anymore. He was happy about it and his happiness probably would've made him give away his further plans and spoil the surprise for Emily. How surprised she'd be. Richard couldn't get enough of imagining her reaction on Sunday. Sunday the 14th. Valentine's Day. The perfect day for a proposal. From then on everything would be easy. He'd easily be able to live another month without getting crazy about the abstemiousness she'd imposed on him, just like she'd easily forgive him for not making plans for Spring Break. Of course she would as his plan was way better than hers. There was definitely an appreciation between spending some time together and spending some time together on their honeymoon. Sitting on the edge of his childhood bed, Richard pulled out the ring he'd gotten her. The thin tie of platinum, graced with borts around the setting that carried a four-carat diamond, was worth a monthly salary and for the first time Richard had touched his trust fund for something that hadn't to do with his education or business investments. He'd touched it for a ring and a honeymoon through Europe that offered unequalled opportunities. Paris and Venice, Vienna and Amsterdam, a cottage in Cornwell and a palace of Ice in Sweden. Emily would love it. Smiling Richard turned the ring in his hands and looked at the engraving. _February 14th, 1965 and always_ it said. It had been a tough decision to decide on it. First he'd wanted to engrave more, but he'd been convinced that there wasn't enough space for "the little novel you made up" as the jeweller had put it and hence Richard cut it down to the essence. He hoped she'd like it. The engraving and the ring. _Ever since I met you, I am a better man. I am happy. I am because of you. Please marry me. Be my partner, Emily, be my wife, _he repeated the words once more. It was only pro forma and yet it would be the most important moment, a moment that ought to be perfect. It would be. He put the ring back to the box and the box back into his jacket. It really was better to not see her. If she were there, he would've kneeled down right now and mulcted her of the perfect ambiance, the Arabian Night he'd resurrect, all the magic he wanted to be around them as a mirror.

Valentine's Day was far from being magic, but close to being disastrous. Emily had greeted him with a mask of pride and coldness when he'd picked her up, a mask she hadn't put away for a second until now. Not when he kissed her hello, not during their drive to New Haven, not during the lunch they had in the tomb. He'd moved heaven and earth to have access to the building of the Scroll and Key Society. He'd spent hours deciding on the menu, the flowers and candles and she didn't even thank him with a smile. If anything she excoriated everything. The flowers smelled too much, the tomb was too hot due to all the candles and lit ingles, the crystal of the wine glass had scratches and the artichokes did not jar with the Bordeaux, just like the dessert was stale as it wasn't the season for raspberries and they reputedly tasted like grass. Richard had a hard time not exploding, but managed it to keep his lips smiling a lunatic smile and his voice sound fond and calm. There was no way he'd let her ruin the day. For the next point on the agenda, the Yale Museum of Art, her current mood actually came in handy. She was the better discussion partner when she was a little huffish. It did not only sharpen her wits to be on fire, but she'd be able to blow off steam by discussing whether or not Pollaiuolo's "Hercules and Deianira" was entertaining. And the latest when she'd see how the poolroom of the old clubhouse was glistening in its renewed - and bought dearly - splendour for this one day and occasion, she'd be appeased for good.

"What about a walk?", he suggested after their lunch and took her hand to place a soft kiss on the leather of her glove. "We could stroll over the campus for a while and then go to the Gallery of Arts", he lead her down the stairs of the tomb and onto the park alley. "They've got hold of some amazing new paintings since we've been there the last time."

"That sounds lovely, but I can't."

Richard stopped walking next to her. "What do you mean, you can't? ….. Emily?", he hurried to follow her as she didn't stop, but continued her way with elegant and determinate steps.

"Anna Sue and Clara will pick me up in twenty minutes to go to the annual Valentine's Day Tea of the DAR."

"The annual Valentine's Day Tea of the DAR?", he repeated uncomprehending.

"Yes", Emily nodded.

"But it's Valentine's Day."

"I know it is", she glanced at him. He stewed in his own grease. She loved it. "On what other day but Valentine's Day would the DAR host a Valentine's Day Tea?"

"I'm not stupid, Emily. I'm a Yale graduate. I know a Valentine's Day Tea can only be held on Valentine's Day. All I'm pointing out is that it's nonsense to hold a tea on Valentine's Day as Valentine's Day isn't supposed to be spent in the company of old ladies in black dresses with white lace collars, but the company of your partner."

"But we spent time together", she stated as parenthetic as possible and gave him another side glance. He looked rather distressed. It was cute somehow. He was. And still so imposing. "We had lunch."

"Yes, we had lunch. Just like we'll have a walk now and go to the museum."

"We can't have a walk and go to the museum as my friends will pick me up and I'll go to the tea with them."

"Oh no! You won't", he demanded.

If there had been any chance to save the day, Richard had ruined it in the second and Emily froze.

"Oh yes", she inhaled deeply. "I will."

"You can't be serious!", he called out.

Emily stopped at a bench and sat down. "I am dead serious, Richard", she smoothed her coat out, although she would've preferred it to rip something into pieces.

"But it's Valentine's Day", he sank next to her, close to give up and quail.

"Even if it were Last Judgement Day, I can't change it now."

"You knew we'd spend the day together."

"I did not know", she staid stubborn and his defensive slowly turned into annoyance. At least she'd given up her distant face, he realized, but her eyes sparkled with anger and recalcitrance. "You didn't tell me."

"I told you I'd pick you up at half past eleven."

"To have lunch."

"To have lunch and something else."

"You never mentioned something else, but only lunch."

"It wasn't necessary to mention more. It's Valentine's Day."

"You pointed that out numerous times already. Seriously Richard, I had no idea you're sentimental enough to be obsessed with a holiday that was invented by the sweets and flowers industry."

"I'm not obsessed with it", he was fed up at last. "I only want to spend it with you. All couples spend Valentine's Day together. The entire day."

"Just like all couples spend their vacations together", Emily pointed out. "How should I've known that you decided to make an exception to your inconclusiveness and plans for this occasion? I'm no fortune-teller, Richard!"

"You don't have to be a fortune-teller to tell your lover might want to spend Valentine's Day with you. It's given."

"And I thought it was given you have a problem with making plans and therefore made plans myself."

"Then drop them", Richard shouted and earned curious looks of a passing group. All occupied with his freaked out soon-to-be-wife, he didn't notice, just like Emily didn't due to her anger. If she had, she most certainly would've replied way lower than she did.

"I already told you, I can't. How would it look if I'd let my friends down just because you suddenly decided to make plans."

"It would look like our relationship means something to you."

"I care a lot about our relationship and you know that", Emily had troubles to not scream out loud. "It was me who cancelled a trip to Aspen in order to be here during Spring Break, while you don't even care enough to take the minute it needs to fill out a good-damn application for leave. Your excursiveness drives me crazy and I've had it! So don't you dare to make me the mad man here, Richard Gilmore!", she hissed. "The only fault I made was being blind enough to not realize earlier what a spineless jellyfish you are!"

Richard gnashed his teeth. He had it too. It was impossible to talk with her when she was like this. She was impossible. Narrow-minded, stubborn and brazen. He sure had his faults, but if there was something he wasn't, it was spineless. He was upright, very upright. If she didn't see that - fine. If she wanted to go to that stupid tea - fine as well. The day was over. Over and out. "Here", he reached in his pocket and pulled out the box, throwing it into her lap.

Emily bit her tongue and looked at the black velvet case. Slowly she opened it and stared at the ring. It was beautiful. The most beautiful ring she'd ever seen. It was the perfect ring. The circumstances she'd gotten it in weren't. They were far from beautiful and perfect. They were all wrong and everything was ruined. Boiling even more she slammed the box close. "Fine", she said.

"Fine", Richard stated just as icily. "Currently I could imagine something better, however I promised my parents to introduce you to them tonight. Dinner will start at seven, I'll pick you up at half past five. You should know as well that the banns are called for the fourteenth a month from now. Our plane to Europe will depart from JFK at ten a.m. the next day. I know Paris can't be compared to Aspen, but you have to make allowances I was sentimental enough to decide to start our honeymoon in the city of love and not the one of après-ski", he rose and put his hands into the pocket of his coat. "But I won't keep you any longer from your friends and the tea now", he added and, with a polite nod, walked away.

Speechless Emily watched him remove while a familiar but unloved tingle spread on her palate and her thorax tightened. The anger was gone for good. It was replaced with guilt and self-pity. Ruined, she couldn't stop to think. Ruined. Ruined. Ruined.

To be continued

* * *

ATN: Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews, thanks to Elizabeth for another legal advice and to Mel for being the great Beta she is and not laughing at me when I write nonsense like 'thread' instead of 'treat' or use three 'would's' in a row. I really wouldn't know what to do without you. 


	31. An Inevitable Attachment

**An Inevitable Attachment**

Although she had a hard time holding back her tears over the next hours, Emily did not allow herself to cry. Now that everything was a mess, she'd be damned to ruin the last thing that was still how it was supposed to be: her make-up. So she sat there during the annual Valentine's Day Tea of the Daughter's of the American Revolution and did not cry. Actually it was all she did as she sat in the beautiful decorated room, sat in the middle of gaudy roses and tiny cupids with feather wings, golden arrows and bows, heart shaped seating cards, hearts out of everything that hearts could be made of, fairy cakes and paper, china and marzipan. But despite everything in the ambiance honoured love and relationship the only present male was Meredith Saunders' seven year old grandson, whose parents had taken the opportunity of Valentine's Day being on a Sunday and spend the weekend in Maui, while the obviously bored fruit of their loins sat in a corner of the room, plucked one of the defenceless porcelain cupids and stuck the feathers into his nostrils and ears until he looked like a unappetizing, snot daubed cross of human and duck. For his own sake Emily silently prayed he wouldn't choke and - even more important - would break with this habit before he reached adulthood. He had to, if he ever intended to spend Valentine's Day in the presence of another female but his grandmother and her DAR friends. Well, unless he fell in love with a duck.

Emily averted her gaze from the snotty nose and tried to appear at least a little amused upon the anecdote Anna Sue told them.

"Well", Clara giggled and reached for another fairy cake from the silver three tier server. "That woman most certainly isn't the smartest if it comes to these kind of things."

"Absolutely not", Anna Sue nodded mischievous. "But what to talk about if she were."

This time Emily joined the light laughter on time, did it rather convincingly considering the fact she hadn't a real clue what or whom they were laughing about.

"Those cakes are absolutely delicious", Clara stated after she'd taken a bite. "Aren't they just gorgeous?"

"The best ones I ever ate", Anna Sue agreed and both looked at Emily for an affirmation of the cake's matchlessness.

"Can't get enough of them", she chirped.

Clara looked at her plate. "You hardly ate a bite of yours."

"I -", Emily cleared her throat. "Richard invited me for the most wonderful lunch and I'm afraid I went a little over the top. One more bite and I'll probably be bursting at the seams."

"With your body you most certainly don't have to be afraid of that."

"Oh now", Emily waved aside.

"There's no need to play the flattered one", Anna Sue pointed out. "We all know you how proud you are of your slim figure."

"You have every right to be", Clara shrug her shoulders. "Heaven knows I'd be, if I had your legs and waist", another fork of cake wandered into her mouth.

"Heaven knows I wouldn't be here on a Valentine's Day, if I had your legs and waist."

"And still I am", Emily stated with a false and broad smile.

"At least you had a lunch. Tell us more", Clara demanded to know.

"Well, it was lunch", she tried to get out of it, but the way her friends looked at her made clear she wouldn't get away without details. "He rented that place for just the two of us. There were candles and flowers. French champagne", she hence continued with an uncomfortable feeling. "It was really nice."

"Nice?", Clara sighed. "That sounds like the most romantic lunch ever."

"If you say so."

"Come one", Clara elbowed her. "Don't be so reasonable. I'd die if a man would only do something half as wonderful for me."

"Yes", Emily hedged. "Probably you're right. It was very considerate of him to organize that lunch."

"Considerate and _**so**_ romantic", she stated and Emily wished Clara would stop behaving like a bull in the china shop and constantly point out how romantic and wonderful everything has been.

Anna Sue raised a brow with a grin. "And?"

"And what?"

"Well", she leaned towards Emily. "You had this awfully romantic dinner and then you…", she gestured for Emily to continue.

"Then we….?"

"As romantic as it sounds, he's a guy, Emily. You can't tell me he bought flowers and lit candles without expecting some _extraordinary_ gratefulness."

"I really have no idea what you are talking about, Anna Sue."

"Did you two you-know-what?", she lowered her voice even more.

"Of course not!", Emily called out.

"But he tried to."

"He did not."

"Come on, Emily", she winked conspiratorial. "We're friends. You can tell us."

"There is nothing to tell, Anna Sue", Emily stated with held breath.

"So you had lunch in between all those flowers and candles and you're seriously telling me, he didn't try to seduce you afterwards?", Anna Sue dug deeper, did it with a mixture of curiosity and sensationalism.

"I do", Emily stated. "And if you knew Richard, you'd know he most certainly isn't that kind of man. On the contrary", she found herself defending him. "He's very charming and tactful and if he had any ulterior motive, it was to set the fitting mood for his proposal."

"Oh my god", Clara shrieked with her mouth full as the excitement swamped her table manners out. "He proposed!?!?"

Emily winced. "Yes he did", she had to confess, cursing her temper that had caused the thoughtless statement of hers. If there was something she did not want to talk about right now, it was the proposal. Or anything else that had to do with Richard. Richard and her stupid behaviour.

"So romantic", sighing rapturously Clara pressed her hands against her chest. "How did he do it? Did he kneel down and tell you he loves you? Oh, I bet he did. That's so sweet of him!"

"It was like that. Kind of", she cleared her throat. "He'd thought of everything", she hardly tried to sound happy. "The perfect proposal."

"Where's the engagement ring then?", Anna Sue took Emily's left hand and tipped at her empty ring finger.

"Oh", she laughed nervously as she pulled her hand back. It was bad enough Anna Sue had noticed the lack of ring, she didn't have to notice how clammy her palms were as well. "In my purse. He got my size wrong. I'll have the jeweller to fix that first thing tomorrow morning."

"Let me see it", Clara asked.

"Yes, show us the ring, Emily."

Emily didn't like the undertone in Anna Sue's voice. Still she smiled some more and reached for her purse. "If you insist", she opened it with burning cheeks and reached for the box.

"So romantic", Clara stated for the third time and took the box, opening it quickly. "Oh. My. God", she called out. "That ring is awesome", she handed it Anna Sue. "Isn't that ring simply awesome. That are three carat at least! And platinum. There's nothing like platinum."

"It's really beautiful", Anna Sue had to confess. "Doesn't look like he's too big though", she was about to get the ring out of its box.

"Oh it is", Emily hastily reached for the casket and slammed it close. "Slipped off my finger the moment he'd put it there", she managed it to laugh another nervous laugh while her fingers clinched the velvet box in her lap. "He's going to introduce me to his parents tonight", she changed the topic, once more rolling her eyes upon herself and the fact she talked before she thought. "Therefore, I slowly should be going and change", she added. At least something. She had found the perfect excuse to escape before she'd be stupid enough to give the awful truth away in another thoughtless moment.

It was half past five sharp when Richard knocked at the door of Emily's apartment. "One moment", he heard her call out and impatiently waited until she eventually opened the door. Her smell wrapped him in a soft cloud. She looked fabulous, he couldn't help to notice. Her hair was tied back in a skillful chignon and the dark green of her dress flattered her complexion and eyes, just like the cut allowed him a rather splendid view on her décolleté. "You look nice", he told her.

"Do I?", the relief in he voice was striking. "I first wasn't sure, if the dress might be too revealing."

"Considering your usual way of dressing this is a very pleasant change", he confessed. "I usually wouldn't mind and you exactly know I don't", he stated, taking his view from her breasts and looking into her eyes "However you should consider as well that I'm going to introduce you to my parents tonight. Therefore I can't help to point out it indeed is too revealing."

Emily closed her eyes. He knew it. Of course he did. How on earth could she've been stupid enough to believe she'd be able to soothe him with a nice décolleté. "Of course", she replied with a forced smile. "I'm going to change."

"I'm afraid we don't have time for that."

"Please, Richard. I know I -", with a sigh she stopped. "Just let me change the dress. I won't need longer than five minutes, I swear", she almost begged.

Richard knew Trix would hate the dress. "You have two", he therefore conceded and followed her into the flat, where she vanished into her room at once. Richard sat down on the sofa and his gaze fell onto the black box on the coffee table. Biting his lip he took and opened it, noting with disappointment it still contained the ring. He really had done everything, just everything for her and she -"Emily", he shouted and closed the box harshly. "Damn it! Do you want me to grow a grey beard here?"

"I'm almost done", she appeared at her door, now wearing a high-necked blue dress that magically managed it to hide all her physical amenities and obviously gave her a hard time thanks to the buttons on its back. "Just another minute", she twiddled at the button-facing, hardly trying to close the small buttons with shaking hands. Wonderful, she thought while her breath got caught in her lungs, just wonderful. She most certainly was nervous enough about meeting her parents-in-law and Richard's behaviour didn't help her a bit. On the contrary, she felt like she was about to hyperventilate.

Richard rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh. "God, really, sometimes….", he murmured and got up. Quite rough he grabbed her waist and turned her around in order to be able to close the buttons himself as she apparently was incapable to do so. If she wouldn't have smelled so goddamn good, he would've give in his need to just strangle her instead of helping her closing a dress.

Emily pressed her forehead against the wooden door frame and closed her eyes. She hated how he treated her. She couldn't stand the coldness and distance. It was awful, simply awful. And what made it even worse - she probably hadn't deserved better.

"Alright", he told her after the dress was closed.

Emily opened her eyes again and watched how he walked back to the coffee table and took the box.

"Now that you're dressed properly", he said and came back to her. "We shouldn't forget the most important detail of being a fiancée."

"No", she shook her head and her heart made an irrational jump, softening her voice. "I guess we shouldn't."

"I'm glad you agree", he handed her the box and all bewildered Emily stared at it for some seconds. "Now?", he summoned.

"Now…", she looked at him. He couldn't do that. He couldn't possibly expect her to do that. Richard glanced at his wristwatch and crossed his arms while he sent her an impatient look. Apparently he did. He really - Emily swallowed and opened the box, putting the engagement ring onto he finger with as much dignity she was able to bring up that moment. She never had felt more mortified in her entire life. Still the ring fit perfectly. Of course it did. He really had planned everything into the smallest detail. "Richard", she started with a hoarse voice. "I…"

For a second he was tempted to give in. A second only, then he remembered why they were in this situation. "We should be going, if we don't want my parents to wait for us", he stated and walked out the door.

"Alright", Emily said into the empty room and reached for her purse and coat.

The house of the Gilmore's was impressive. At least for its dimensions it was. Dimensions, as Richard knew perfectly, which lay far behind the one of the Johnson's mansion. Of course it did. The Gilmore's were wealthy. The Johnson's rich. And while an uninvolved person probably even wouldn't have noticed the fine line between wealthy and rich, Richard did. He knew Emily did. Everybody in their social circle did. Well, the social circle of having more money than the other 98 percent of the population. And yes, the Gilmore's were part of the lucky two percent, part of the four millions who hadn't to care about money. The Johnson's however, they were part of the upper ten thousand. They had to care about nothing at all. Therefore he took it the wrong way, when Emily pointed out the house was "charming." Probably he wanted to take it the wrong way. It was easier this way. He didn't run the risk to be dazzled by her again.

"I know it's no palace like yours", Richard turned off the Pontiac.

"I didn't say that, Richard", she denied surprised by his reaction. "I just wanted to point out that this is really a beautiful and charming house."

"I don't need your pity, Emily", he opened the door. "And although this house ranks behind yours when it comes to size, it doesn't when it comes to its owners", he stated. "Some things simply can't be bought, Emily, you should learn that."

She didn't reply. She didn't even say something when Richard didn't open the front passenger's door for her, but she had to do it herself.

"Now", he said as they walked towards the front door. "I want you to know my parents are very respectable and upright people, who always and only wanted the best for me. Especially my mother does. She would do anything for me. Therefore, it's very important you'll leave a good impression on her. I know you have the perfect manners, American ones. However my mother always kept up our European roots, so if you take your glass of wine, don't grab it at the belly but the shaft and if dishes are served that call for the usage of one piece of silverware only, like soup or dessert, I want you to put your hand onto the edge of the table and not into your lap."

Emily couldn't help to let out a small snort. "Don't you think it is very hubristic of a man who did not even help me into my coat or opened the door of his car for me, to tell me about manners?", she hissed with held breath.

"You should watch you sitting habits as well", Richard ignored her answer. "My mother does not esteem the habit of women to cross their legs like only cheap starlets do in her opinion, but prefers the more elegant and distinguished way of crossing the ankles."

Emily swallowed the dozens of answer that came to her mind. Women did not answer back on men after all. She knew that. She knew it as she _**had**_ perfect manners. "Alright", she agreed with gritted teeth. "I will not put my hand into my lap and cross my ankles. Are you happy now, Richard?"

"I am indeed", he nodded and rang the bell. "If you watch your tone now, I've no doubts the evening will be a pleasant one. You sound a bit aggressive tonight and Trix most certainly doesn't like disproportionate personalities. She's very balanced herself. In fact I don't know any other person who is more in harmony with herself and the world but my mother."

"I will do my very best to not disappoint your mother's expectations", she conceded and looked at him. "And yours, Richard", she added softly.

He stood her gaze, hardly trying to read her face. He couldn't. She was a stranger.

"Mr. Gilmore", the maid opened the door and let them in.

Lorelai Gilmore scrutinized the person her son had chosen to marry from bottom to top, dissecting every movement the young girl made, every word she said and how she said them. At least she was good looking. Sure, she apparently didn't know how to dress and one could tell there was Indian blood in the family line, however, thank God, the Jewish roots of her mother's side hadn't broke through in any physical aspect. But then, Lorelai remembered the few occasions where she'd met Lillian Johnson, Emily's mother did not look Jewish at all either. On the contrary, she remembered her being very aristocratic. A shame her daughter hadn't inherited the fine facial features and magnificent golden hair. But still, her looks were acceptable. Richard would be able to present a nice picture with her on his side.

Unfortunately her manners did not display a nice picture at all. Giving her family name and once more remembering the flawless appearance of Lillian Johnson, Lorelai would've assumed the girl would have them in her blood. But heaven knew, she didn't. It was painfully obvious she constantly thought about how to sit and where to put her hands to and which silverware to use. She was terribly insecure about everything actually. That girl hadn't the slightest self-confidence, constantly playing with her engagement ring and always nervously looking into Richard's direction first when she was asked a question. Questions she hardly ever answered in whole sentences, but kept it short to "Yes, Mrs. Gilmore", "No, Mrs. Gilmore" and "I agree, Mrs. Gilmore." Smartness apparently wasn't one of her strong sides either. Actually the only ones she had were her family name and money and her looks. And even those left a lot to be desired. Richard most certainly could've done better.

"Tell me, Emily" Lorelai asked in between two bites of the roast venison. "How did you and my son actually meet?"

Once more the girl first looked at her son as if she expected him to dictate her the answer. "After a field hockey game of mine", she eventually said.

Seven words, Lorelai counted, what an improvement. "Field hockey?", she raised a brow. "Isn't that a sport for people who are too scared of balls to catch them, but tresh them with sticks instead?"

Richard and Carl laughed and Lorelai toasted her son with a small wink. The Johnson girl on the other hand proved once more she hadn't the slightest sense of humour and self-mockery, but stared at her dish.

"I don't play anymore", she was at least polite enough to add something to the conversation.

"I'm glad to hear", Lorelai nodded. "Now tell me more about this first meeting."

"There isn't much to tell", Emily answered low and Lorelai best wanted to shake a decent answer out of her.

"Richard?", she pulled herself together and looked at her son.

"It really isn't a very exciting story, Trix", he acceded his fiancée. "We happened to sit on the same bench after the game and I felt it was the polite thing to introduce myself. You can never know when a contact comes in handy, especially if it is a contact to such an influential family as the Johnsons are", he shrug his shoulders. "Although I never would've thought this contact would turn out to be a wedding bond."

"You always knew how to seize an opportunity. Didn't he, Charles?"

"Absolutely", her husband smiled proudly and faced Richard. "Now, I know we haven't reached dessert yet, however I'm curious to know about the actual financial aspects of this fusion. You've missed to fill us in with them during our talk on Friday."

"Well", he cleared his throat and put fork and knife away. "I haven't went through the exact details with Baldwin and Carl Johnson, however there is one trust fund we'll have access to after our marriage and one we'll be able to resort to for educational arrangements after the birth of our first son, just like there'll be one for each other male offspring we'll have. Moreover there's of course always the opportunity for me to get involved with the _Johnson Trade Incorporation_ on a business level and - most important - I'm sure Emily will bring along tons of the usual trousseau like tablecloths, napkins and handkerchiefs."

His parents acknowledged the last remark with laughter while, as Lorelai couldn't help to notice, Emily winced. The behaviour of the girl truly started to annoy her.

"That sounds like a very good deal to me", Charles stated.

"It is indeed."

"May I ask how big the amount of those trust funds is?"

"Of course you may", Richard answered. "The first one comprises one million, five hundred thousand each the others."

Carl nodded with more than just positive surprise and a grin spread on his face. "Now, that's what I call a worthwhile deal", he called out.

"Exactly", Richard sipped at his wine. "The perfect deal", he looked at his mother, who returned his smile. The prospect of richness had the power to blind even to most intelligent people. Hence she couldn't blame Richard, not at all. Still she'd wished the inevitable attachment that came with the money would've been someone more suitable than Emily Johnson.

He saw it in the side view mirror when he filtered back onto the right lane after an overtaking manoeuvre. Clinching the steering wheel even harder, Richard forced himself to keep his eyes on the street in front of them. She didn't make a noise. Not a single one. He even wasn't sure, if she was breathing. Pretending to adjust the back mirror to keep the other cars from dazzling him, he gave her another side glance. Her lips slightly parted and her fingers clawed into her purse, there were single tears running down her cheeks, rolling off her face and weeping onto the collar of her coat. Hastily Richard concentrated on the road again. At least he pretended to. He had no idea how to handle this. Not the slightest. He had no idea why she was doing this. Did she expect him to comfort her? She, who had ruined the entire day? Who hadn't even worn the ring until he practically had to compel her to do wear it? No. If he'd learned something today it was that he'd erred in her. She had made a fool out of him, a complete fool.

Emily tried to take in deep breaths, but it didn't work. Actually, the harder she tried, the worse it got. She stopped breathing at all. It worked until the old air started to burn in her lungs and her body demanded for oxygen, a need she wasn't able to control. Without her even thinking about it, her lungs contracted and absorbed fresh air, causing her vocal chords to create a sob. Once more Emily held her breath and prayed Richard hadn't heard it. Obviously he had. The car made a detour and the sound of its brakes filled the air as it came to a stop on the breakdown lane, a last vigorous jolt when Richard pulled on the handbrake and the car was motionless for good.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing", he asked her and Emily pressed half of her face into the headrest, presenting him the back of her head only as she stared outside. "Alright", Richard drum his fingers on the dashboard. "That's just fine with me, because if you're seriously thinking some tears work on me, you're most certainly mistaken."

"Stop it, Richard", she said with held breath.

"Me? It's better you who stops this farce at once!"

"What?", gasping for breath, she turned around and looked at him with tear-strained cheeks, her voice nothing more than a raw and trembling something far out of control. "This is - it's not-", she started. "I know I acted horrible. I know I've been wrongful and stubborn and just totally stupid, but I tried to make good for it and you just ignored it. You ignored it and continued to treat me like dirt. And no matter what, I don't think I deserved that", she sobbed and reached for the door handle, rattling at it in the desperate need to get out. Just when she remembered the door was locked and reached out to unlock, Richard covered the locker with his hands. "Let me out", she cried out, but he did not remove his hand, neither did he say something. With another sob, Emily pressed her forehead against the pane.

Richard stared at her trembling back that moved up and down with every sob she made. It did work on him. She cried. She cried because of him. He never had felt more helpless in his entire life. When she didn't calm down after a while, he put his hand onto her back and squeezed it softly. Apparently it had been the wrong thing to do as her reaction was a howl. Still he didn't remove his hand. Wait, he told himself. Eventually she had to stop. Nobody could cry forever after all. His theory proved to be right after some minutes. Her sobs slowly trickled away and eventually stopped in a sniff.

"Here", he handed her his handkerchief. That couldn't be too wrong. People usually always had to blow their nose after they cried. Even Emily.

"Thank you", she mumbled without looking at him and he indeed heard her blow her nose with restraint some seconds later.

"You're welcome", he removed his hand from her shoulder, leaning back into his own seat.

Emily blew her nose once more and took her purse. She had no idea what'd gotten into her. Crying in front of him like some sort of mental maniac. She hated mental breakdowns enough when she was alone, but this had been totally inappropriate and inexcusable. Biting her lip, she opened her pocket mirror and looked at her reflection. What she saw would've been reason enough for another crying fit. First using the handkerchief to dry her face, she started to redo her make-up, applying fresh powder, eyeliner and mascara. The result was rather unsatisfying. She still looked totally puffy.

"Alright", she said nevertheless. "I'm finished. We can keep going."

"As you wish", Richard replied short spoken and manoeuvred the car back onto the street.

They hadn't spoken during the rest of the drive back to Smith. It'd been easier to remain silent as neither of them knew what to say and even if they did, where to start. Still, when Emily was about to open the door herself, Richard held her back for the second time that day. Leaning over her, he unlocked it and walked around the car to open it for her. Emily thanked him with a small smile and wordlessly he brought her to the door of her apartment, where they spent some time staring at their shoes.

"Good night", Richard eventually cleared his throat and despite he said it in a low voice he'd the feeling to bash the night air.

"Good Night, Richard", she opened the door, stopping in movement when she was half through it. "Do you -", she pressed her lips together and decided to ignore the strange feeling in her chest and stomach. "Melinda won't spend the night here", she said without looking at him. "You could come in for a moment, if you'd like to."

Richard nodded surprised.

"Good", she nodded as well and led him into the flat. "Richard?", she asked when he didn't follow her into her bedroom, but stopped in the living room. She had no idea why she was doing this. But then it was the only thing she could think about. The only way that came to her mind. She didn't want him to be mad anymore. She didn't want it to be like this anymore. "Would you, please?", she presented him her back after he'd entered the room and he understood the request to unbutton her dress. "Thank you", she stated and pushed the blue material over her shoulders.

Richard swallowed. Unsure what he was supposed to do, he watched her as she hung the dress into her wardrobe and took off her petticoat as well, presenting him her body in nothing but her fawn underwear and hold-up stockings while she folded the petticoat and lay it on a chair. She did the same with the stockings and then, her back facing him, opened her bra. Looking at her exposed back, Richard had trouble breathing. Slowly he lifted his hand and was about to give into the need to touch her, when she bowed down a bit to put the bra on the staple of underclothes. Emily soothed it with her right hand, then walked over to her bed and climbed under the sheets. This was wrong. They weren't married. And yet, when he kissed her. The way she felt whenever he did. This wonderful way. Emily closed her eyes and waited.This was it. She'd lose her virginity this night and there never would be a way back. There wouldn't be a wedding night. There wouldn't be this one, special moment she'd imagined for so long. There would be no consummation. She'd just be able to give him what he already knew. What he'd get to know tonight. At least it was him. Richard and nobody else. _Reproduction is degrading and painful. You'll have the feeling to be torn apart_, she heard the voice of the midwife in the back of her head. _Over and over again, every time you lie by your husband. Still, as a married woman, it will be your duty to give in these depraved and animal demands. _It was worth to withstand the procedure. He was. Everything, he was worth everything, Emily reminded herself. It was Richard. He'd never been rough with her. Not physically. It would all work out just fine. She'd never been snivelling after all. She'd be able to take it and they'd be fine again afterwards. They simply had to be. Afterwards he'd be able to love her again. Afterwards everything would be okay. _You'll have the feeling to be torn apart. Over and over again. _She'd read Miller. She'd heard her friends. Women were able to enjoy it._ Degrading and painful. _Richard. "Are you coming?", she asked shyly.

Although Richard even wasn't able to create a nod, he somehow managed it to undress to his shorts and follow her under the blanket. Leaning over her, he caressed her cheek and bowed down to kiss her. She replied the soft kiss and encouraged like that his fingers trailed down her neck and décolleté, running over her naked breasts. Her exposed skin against his fingertips felt even better than he'd imagined it. Richard intensified the kiss and explored her side, his other hand never letting go of her breast. He could feel how the muscles of her stomach twitched under his touch and broke the kiss to put a trace onto her neck and way down while his fingers ran over her side and thighs. Her heart thumped wildly against is lips as he kissed the spot between her breasts and, unable to hold back a smile, he looked up. Her eyes weren't closed as he'd expected them to be, but she stared at the ceiling. Her heart did not race of anticipation, he realized. Not at all.

With a sigh he rolled to the side, pulling her body with him and wrapping his arms around her. There he was. There she was. Offering him what he'd wanted so badly and he wasn't able to go through with it. Not like this. Not if he'd the feeling she only did it to do him a favour. It didn't work like that. Not with her.

She felt how he kissed the top of her head, how his finger started to paint small circles on her shoulder. She felt relief, infinite relief, when it was all he did for minutes, just lying there and holding her close. "Thank you", she whispered against his chest and he made a noise that reminded her of a snort. Emily closed her eyes and slowly relaxed for good. It felt good. She felt good. Not naked at all, although she was. She was naked and he was and still she felt comfortable. She felt warm. Warm and safe.

Emily popped herself up to place a kiss on his lips and caressed his forehead as she pressed her head back at his shoulder.

"You really would've gone through with it, wouldn't you?", he asked low.

"If you would've wanted me to -", she answered. "Yes."

Richard chuckled low and she looked up again. "What?"

"If I would've wanted to?", sighing with a smile, he shook his head. "God, Emily, if there's something I want it is this, believe me. Seriously, every other guy would call me a stupid knucklehead, if I told him I didn't jump at the chance."

"Every other guy", she repeated low.

"Yeah", Richard mumbled and started to play with a loose strand of her hair. "Every other guy."

Emily swallowed. "That's why I don't love any other guy but you", she eventually whispered.

"Mmh", he made, having a hard time to suppress the proud smile that was about to form on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Richard."

"I figured that out. It took me a while, but I did", he smiled. "But please don't do this kind of thing to me again, because I'm really, really not good at it."

Emily ran a finger over his cheekbone, did it with a defeated smile. "I'm not good at it either."

He scrutinized her face. She still looked like she felt miserable. So fragile. So beautiful, he thought, the most beautiful creature ever. And she loved him. Him and no other guy. Just him. "Well, we probably should do other things then", he suggested in the need to leave all the piteousness behind. Just leaving it behind and forget about it. "Things we're good at."

"Yes", she laughed, he was glad she did, unbelievable glad. "Things we're good at."

Richard lifted her chin and kissed her softly. "We're really good at this."

"We are."

"Yes", his mouth shaved hers. "We are."

To be continued

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ATN. Thanks to **Mary**,** Elizabeth** and **Valerie** for reviewing "My Funny Valentine". Your kind words meant a lot to me. 

For everybody else, especially those who read or even subscribed to this story and never left me a single line, this is your last but one chance to tell me what a great job I'm doing with this fiction ;) The epilogue is finished already and I'll post it tomorrow. It will be followed by a one-shot playing in the 5DIS-universe around Christmas time. You should check "Fiction Rating: All" for this one though.

As always and for the last time - many thanks, all the thanks I have to **Mel**. No more chapters for you to fight with. Well, nothing but a smutty one-shot ;)


	32. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Richard Charles Gilmore and Emily Katherine Rose Johnson were married on March 14th, 1965. Despite it'd been snowing all night, it was a warm Sunday, the sun glittering on the snow and filling the air with the silent promise of spring. Although there only had been four weeks to organize the wedding, it was perfect. At least Emily always remembered it as the most perfect and beautiful day. She wore a dress four seamtresses had been working on day and night until the one she'd always imagined existed of lace and silk, a dream come true. She married a man she loved, something she'd never allowed herself to dream of. It indeed was the perfect wedding.

Three years later, more exactly on April 22nd, 1968, Lorelai Victoria Gilmore missed the opportunity of being a Sunday Child by an hour and twenty-two minutes. Already the second disappointment she brought her mother after she already had crossed Emily's plans to give birth eight days earlier, just like she disagreed with the date of birth the doctor had calculated, April the 8th. Stubborn as she was, Lorelai had chosen her birthday without asking anybody for permission.

She was a beautiful baby who, to the relief of her mother and grandmothers, had inherited her father's blue eyes and only her hair told the story of the savage in the family line. As Lorelai would've carried the name of her grandfather on the mother's side if she'd been a boy, it was understood the girl would be named after her paternal grandmother. Emily still didn't let go of her old imagination to name her daughter after one of the European queens and empresses and Victoria seemed to be the perfect name for a girl that probably never would - and never did - receive her rightful heritage just because she had the wrong gender. Choosing Queen Victoria as her second eponym was a much-meaning bauble Emily allowed herself, a bauble of whose weight nobody but maybe her husband and sister had an idea.

Just like nobody but Richard and Emily ever knew why Lorelai remained an only child. As it'd taken three years for Emily to get pregnant for the first time, people assumed it was a physical thing. It wasn't. Once they had decided it was the perfect time to have a child, Emily actually hadn't needed longer than two months to conceive. Like her uncle as always hoped and prayed for, it seemed like she indeed had every capability to be the broodmare she was supposed to be.

Emily didn't want to be one though. She had wanted a daughter and she'd been lucky enough her first child had been the girl she always had wanted to have. Maybe, in weak moments, she sometimes allowed herself to dream of a second child, a second daughter. But no matter how sweet the dream was, she was rational enough to know it was a dream only. Emily didn't want to risk having a boy. And although the decision to raise their daughter as an only child had fallen by silent agreement, they never exchanged a single word about it during their entire marriage, Richard felt the same. Just like his wife, he never wanted to be in the situation to have to explain his daughter she was worth less than her brother.

As Carl Johnson had no idea of the Gilmore's agreement, he never gave up the hope to have an heir eventually. He was the only one who was thrilled to hear his fifteen year old grandniece was pregnant. Thrilled without boarders as, just like Emily, her sister Henriette had turned out to be a disappointment, devoting her life to her work as internist at the Hôpital Saint Louis in Paris and later being a professor of medical sciences at the Sorbonne instead of following the predetermined path of being a wife and mother. Yes, Carl Johnson indeed was thrilled about the opportunity he'd waited for so long and when Lorelai gave birth to a daughter at a cold Wednesday morning in October 1984, he had to face his lifework had been for nothing, the work of so many generation of Johnson's had been. The game, his game was over. Henry had died twelve years ago and all that was left of the former Johnson glory was an old man. An old man who lived and died how he'd been since the death of the only companion in life he ever had: lonesome and blue. Lonesome and blue and still never giving up his last hope that at least his grandniece would give birth to a boy before he'd die, did it in 1991 without a male heir. The _Johnson Trade Inc. _fell back to the Willem Verplanck Janssen family line.

His brother Baldwin Johnson V, the last one by its name, died as he always imagined it to be: In 1973, sitting on a chair, his pipe in his hands and surrounded by his work in his studio, he fell asleep and never woke up again. To his surprise he never turned out to be a second Van Gogh, but his paintings were stowed on his eldest daughter's attic as she hadn't the heart to throw them away, saved from the compactor and yet forgotten. To his even bigger surprise, he died lonesome too. He never had known how much attached he'd become to his wife during the 32 years of their marriage. He'd never known he'd miss her lectures and nagging and face once she'd be gone. He'd never imagined she'd die before him, indeed Baldwin Johnson survived his so much younger wife. She'd be feeling unwell since weeks until she eventually visited a doctor in the summer of 1972, July the eighteenth. Four days later, a hot Friday afternoon her only grandchild spent at the beach alongside her nanny and her two daughters in a sticky hospital corridor, they removed her ovaries and uterus and more blood than healthy for a human being. And although - or maybe because - both sisters had bowed to their mother's wish of Henriette not attending the operation, they didn't talk to each other for fourteen years, not until Emily called her sister one cold October morning and whispered "Lorelai had a girl".  
"God, that just serves you right, Carl, so goddamn right", Henriette responded with triumph in her voice as she put her newspaper away. "It does, doesn't it?", she added after a small pause.  
"Yes", her elder sister agreed happily. "It does."  
"She'll rule the world, Emily. That girl will rule the world and Carl will hate it."  
"You can bet, Hopie, you so can bet."

Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, born on October 3rd, 1984, never ruled the world. However she could choose. And so could her daughters.

Fin

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ATN: Happy Birthday Caroline. Here's to you! 


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